


Observation

by QuillMind



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Canon Compliant, Drama, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Introspection, Military, Retelling, Revenge, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-09 03:05:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 50,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7784239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuillMind/pseuds/QuillMind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since that night in Cyprus, her life was changed forever. Eventually, she would change his, too. A series of events in-game, mainly from Quiet's POV, that explore the evolving relationship between a legendary soldier and his silent, would-be killer. Spoilers for endgame.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pride

The first time she'd seen him, he was nothing.

In the hospital in Cyprus, the great soldier known as Big Boss, the successor to the Mother of the Special Forces, was reduced to a feeble cripple.  His body was skinny from atrophy, his left hand was replaced by a crude prosthetic, and what parts of his face weren't covered with bandages were greasy with sweat and oil and numerous scars.  His right eye was milky like that of a dead fish.  When she had approached him after she'd eliminated the nurse and doctor, he was sprawled on the floor, barely moving, and only emitting low groans. 

The doctor's pistol was not even two feet away from her target's grasp, yet in his current state he might have taken half an hour to get to it on his own.  The famous Snake was weak as a kitten.  Such a far cry from the legend she had heard about. 

_Pathetic.  Disappointing._

Her face had contorted slightly with disgust as she put her knife away and retrieved the pistol.  There was no challenge to be had here.  Just be quick about it. 

Then the other patient had jumped onto her.  Took her completely by surprise.  He was bigger than her, obviously, and he knew how to fight, but she had finally managed to flip him off of her, sending him crashing against the wall. 

Her assailant's entire head was covered in bandages.  Maybe he was a soldier as well?  Either way, he was clearly not in top form.  Her knife was now back out, and she easily deflected Bandage Man's projectiles of emesis basins and pans.  All the while, her target was staring dumbly at her.  Irritation bloomed inside her. 

 _Smash!_   Wetness and sharp fragments hit as Bandage Man's last weapon connected with her.  The smell jetted straight into her nose--ethanol.  Her eyes stung and the glass had cut her in several areas, but they would never be enough to stop a XOF soldier. 

_How stupid of him.  My turn._

Her knife drove hard into Bandage Man's upper chest, close to the shoulder.  Not fatal, but enough to keep him out of her way.  It was ridiculous, she had always thought, how Hollywood movies portrayed characters to be so tough that they could shake off a flesh wound like lint from a sweater, when in reality men would wail from paper cuts and cringe at injections.  Bandage Man yelled in pain as he gingerly put his hand near his wound.

_Back to work._

She grabbed the husk formerly known as Big Boss and picked him up--it was easier than she had thought--shoved him to the bed and began strangling him.  Dry, thin sounds escaped his mouth and he tried to fight her, but his limbs had the strength of wet noodles.  This should have been a memorable moment.  The glorious day when she would take down the best soldier in the world.  Instead it felt like crushing a baby. 

In an instant she had lost sight of Big Boss--her vision went white, then red, orange, yellow-- _HOT!_   _FIREI'MBURNINGI'MBURNINGI'MBURNING--_

Her brain had barely managed to process that mangled thought as she caught a glimpse of her target still staring at her.  _Finish the job!  Die later!_   Her skin bubbled and the plastic parts of her gear softened from the heat of the flames as she crawled resolutely towards him, knocking aside the knife that Bandage Man-- _motherfucking asshole_ \--threw back at her. 

But Bandage Man's assault was not finished.  He flung another bottle at her, and upon impact the flames surged in strength.  She had to scream, even as doing so scorched her insides, she couldn't _not_ scream.  Thrashing around and wishing she could escape her own body, finally she crashed through the window to the outside. 

****

_"Be advised, our scouts have reported sightings of enemy troops investigating the area.  Do not let anyone get past you to the Serak power plant alive."_

Simple instructions enough.  They suited her just fine.  The Aabe Shifap ruins were a great place to sit back and pick off anyone stupid enough to come wandering in.  In the time between each enemy encounter, which could be quite long, she allowed herself the luxury of taking naps in the sun, which also served as her "meals." 

Of course it had taken her a difficult time to get used to her new physiology.  At first it had seemed only beneficial that she had completely healed from all injuries and no longer had to worry about eating food, not to mention that her enhanced strength, speed and vision made her practically unstoppable on the battlefield, ensuring what happened at Cyprus could never possibly happen again. 

But she would only find out later that even if she did want to eat food, she couldn't.  Whether it was meat, fruits, grains or liquids, they only lasted mere moments in her mouth before she had to spit them out.  Even her favourites, ice cream and strawberry cheesecake, could now only be felt as unnatural and distasteful as cannibalism.  Alcohol was no longer an option, either.  When she had held a glass with half a shot's worth of whiskey in it, the smell was ten times as pungent as gasoline, and the memory of her being on fire came flooding back in an instant.  She'd then thrown the glass and its contents against the wall. 

Getting used to wearing as little as possible was a different kind of hurdle.  When Cipher's doctors had explained to her that to cover herself with clothing would be dangerous to her health, she'd given them an incredulous look, thinking that she must have heard the world's most ridiculous setup to a porno film.  In an effort to prove them wrong she had tried to dress herself in a turtleneck and jeans, but the contact of the wool and denim on her body seemed to make her shudder to her core, and she came lightheaded and weak within minutes.  In the end she had desperately cut the clothes off of her with a pair of scissors, tearing the pieces away while she writhed on the floor. 

They were frustrating changes to deal with.  But she had to accept them.  When she drank water through showers, absorbed nutrients from a sunny day and took in air through her exposed skin, she felt _right_.  She was a freak, yes, but a living one, and a much stronger one for it.  She did not have to worry about food poisoning or unhealthy weight gain, and she abandoned any notion of bodily shame she had before. 

The least troublesome adjustment had been to her speech, or lack thereof.  She'd never been a chatty person to begin with, and she had come to appreciate the value of non-verbal communication.  Occasionally it was annoying when men were ogling her exposed body or talking about her like she wasn't there, but through them she came to perfect murderous glares that shouted "FUCK OFF" and made them back down most of the time.  The other times called for a few broken noses, fractured arms or lost teeth. 

The name "Quiet" became an obvious and fitting one.

It had been a lazy day by her post in the ruins.  By now it was past noon, and she was already writing the day off as a no-encounter when she heard the distant whinny of a horse. 

She took her time rolling off her back onto her stomach--she didn't need much time to get a bead on her target--and picked up her rifle.  She moved into a crouch and steadied her weapon, and her eyes widened when she saw who it was.  She almost forgot to fire--almost. 

 _BANG!_   Her first shot had just missed him, and he'd ducked behind a fallen pillar.  From the quick glance she'd caught of him, he was no longer the emaciated husk she'd seen months ago, and was very alert and aware of his surroundings. 

 _Good.  A much better quarry._ She grit her teeth and relished in the excitement building inside her. 

Time became irrelevant and the ruins became her entire world.  Here and there he would show himself as he moved around in the environment, but never long enough for her to take him out.  She fired a couple more shots when a part of his head showed, but they only accomplished knocking out chunks of stone.  Just when she thought she had him, he would throw a grenade or detonate some explosive he had set in one of her previous hiding spots, and in those fractions of seconds when she was distracted, he would be gone again.  In response she would dart off to new positions, figuring that him seeing her move the way she did would unsettle him enough to make him stupid--it had worked for everyone else previously--but he remained calm throughout. 

_"--Oh, the things you say, yeah--is it life or just to play my worries away?--"_

_What the hell--music?_   She turned in the direction of the song, and--

 _ZWIP!_   She faltered and looked down to see a dart embedded in her left shoulder.  ZWIP!  A second dart struck her ribs, just under her breast.  She zeroed in on him with her eyes, now framed in black shadow, and fired a shot that tore a portion of his desert camo sleeve, but not its wearer.

She blinked in outrage and disbelief.  He'd shot her-- _twice_ \--he'd actually gotten close enough to hit her _twice?_   Violently yanking out both darts, she took off again, already feeling the effects of the drug in her system, though it was hard to say if it or her anger were more potent at the moment. 

By the time she'd settled into her new spot, she was undoubtedly woozy--her body could fix most damage done to it faster and better than any others', but she had been hit with two darts, and without knowing their contents, she had no idea what their effects would be or for how long.  Did he intend for her to die slowly by poison?  If so, she would not go before he did. 

_Finish the job, die later._

A growl emitted from her as she fired at the tip of his boot poking out from behind a wall.  The boot, devoid of its wearer, spiraled onto the grass nearby and her face fell.  Only then did she become aware of a shadow from above--

BAM!  A heavy crate from above hit her on the head and she fell, wincing from the pain.  Looking back she saw the contents, an impressive supply of ammunition and weaponry. 

Thinking he had included a bomb among the supplies, she began to dash away again, but immediately she knew she was not going to escape, as her strength was rapidly abandoning her.  She just barely made it to the middle of the ruins, on a section of old road, before collapsing. 

Her limbs were lead, her head was dull, and she was staying awake by a thread that was surely and quickly fraying apart.  Then footsteps... The click of a gun hammer...

But... No trigger pull? 

_You've failed.  You've failed again.  He's going to torture you, or let his men rape you, or kill you slowly, or probably all three.  Do it yourself and keep some of your dignity!  Do it now!_

She took every ounce of energy that remained to bring her pistol up to her head, hoping she would have enough left to pull the trigger.  This was not how she imagine this day would go, that was for certain.  But her biggest surprise would come next, when she felt his hands grab her right and wrestle the pistol away from her.  He did it so easily that she unwittingly held a pitiful expression on her face.  He shucked out the chambered round and removed the magazine before tucking it in the back of his pants, then moved closer towards her. 

She tried to bat his hands away--it would have made her furious that she was reduced to this, but she could not even gather the ability to be angry anymore.  With the sound of handcuffs clicking around her wrists, all fight was gone. 

It was only now that she took the fleeting moment to actually see him.  He was decked in full military gear, a long scarf draped around his neck to shield him against the frequent sandstorms, and multiple weapons that suited a variety of scenarios in warfare.  Though fully clothed, it was obvious that he had a fit, muscular build, save for his left arm, which now boasted a blood-red, bionic prosthetic, an impressive upgrade from what he'd had the last time.  His hair was a little longer now, and tied back in a short ponytail, and while his face had healed, aside from some recent scratches, most of the scars he had were deep, and thus a permanent feature.  His dead right eye was now tastefully hidden behind an eye patch, while the remaining left one, looking straight into her, was an intense blue.  But strangest of all was the black piece of... metal?  Obsidian?  She couldn't tell, but it looked to be lodged inside his head, resembling a demon's horn. 

A monster of the battlefield. 

The heir to the title of "Boss." 

The Legendary Snake.

The second time she'd seen him, he was magnificent. 


	2. Unsettled

Distantly, she felt him. 

Through the fog of the tranquilizer darts, she discerned his hands lifting her off the hard metal floor, and the vibrations stopped drumming against her head.  Sweat, blood, dust and male musk came near, followed by the rapid sound of helicopter blades. 

_Taking me home, is he?_

As her mind cleared bit by bit, she had to exert some control to keep a look of chagrin from crossing her features.  The memory of being bested by her target returned with a sharp sting, and she cursed herself for letting it happen. 

There came a more forgiving surface cushioning her body--he had laid her on top of the seats--then his hands pressed onto her cuffed wrists.  They were there only a second to check that she was still restrained, so she couldn't understand why it felt so strange.   She heard a gentle rustling, then it registered that he had covered her with a jacket. 

_He's trying to suffocate me!_

He had barely turned his back on her when she furiously leapt to her feet, slipped out of her restraints and tossed the jacket at him like a bomb.  She took a moment to appreciate his look of shock after she'd turned invisible, smirking while he checked the outside of the chopper for any sign of her.  Soon enough he gave up, pulled the door shut and sat down.  Undetectable, she sat back against the wall near the co-pilot's chair, with her knees drawn up to her chest. 

He occasionally spoke when responding to the radio chatter that came in from what must have been his base of operations.  There were two voices that talked to him, both male--one cantankerous and tense, the other laid back and having a distinct Western American drawl that Quiet thought might be an affectation.  Snake listened patiently while he went over every piece of equipment that was on him, making sure things were in working order, and performing brass checks.  

_"--that about covers it, Boss."_

Snake gave the slightest of nods to himself.  He leaned over to the far side of the chopper's interior to pick up a rifle-- _her rifle!_ \--and began to inspect it. 

Quiet's brows furrowed.  She had only now realized that it was there.  Why had he brought her rifle with him?  He was clearly not lacking for weapons himself--did he intend for it to be another trophy, like herself?  Yet unlike with his own gear, he took the finest care in handling hers, even brushing some of the dust off the stock and giving a hint of an impressed look before he gently set it down again. 

"How're the men doing?"

 _"Good so far.  Though a few have mentioned that we could use some defensive measures on the base for if and when enemies actually come close enough,"_ the cranky one said.

 _"And,"_ the laid-back voice piped in, _"Two of our vehicles broke down but we don't have any automotive specialists around.  Plus... there's been more than a few complaints about the variety of food that's served in the mess hall."_

Snake nodded again.  "All right.  Next time I'm out, I'll see what I can do.  The more secure and comfortable the men are, the better they'll perform.  Shouldn't be hard to find some gun turrets or mechanics, and there's plenty of livestock roaming the lands."

_"Just don't spoil them, we don't want any fat dogs rolling around.  Speaking of which, DD's been going pretty stir-crazy the last few days.  You should come spend some time with him soon."_

 A ghost of a smile, then, "When I can."  With the transmission over, Snake sat back a mere micron in his seat--the most relaxed he would let himself be until they were back at base. 

Quiet chewed her lip thoughtfully as she weighed her next move.  Killing him now would fulfill her months-overdue objective, but the rest of his organization would remain, and they were also a part of her mission.  Not to mention that doing the deed now would most likely end with her in the sea, an agonizing death that she forced herself not to think about. 

_No, just make it back to his base undetected.  Then and only then can you end him._

An urgent beeping brought her back to reality.  Snake was already out of his seat and at his pilot's back. 

"Confirm, one bogey on our six, steady at point four miles!"  The pilot said. 

 _"Don't lead it back to Mother Base!"_ Cranky barked. 

Her mind raced as Snake yanked open the doors to get a visual on the fighter jet.  The pilot was good, but they had no chance against the jet's arsenal.  Snake pulled the chopper's minigun out into position, but the impact of the jet roaring past them knocked him onto the floor. 

She would be damned if some other bastard robbed her of his life. 

_Fuck it._

Grabbing the minigun's triggers with firm hands, she materialized and locked onto the incoming missile.  It was just a tad more challenging with the sun directly in her eyes, but a quick volley and the missile blew apart, sending the jet over them. 

She turned to face Snake, who was wearing that same look of surprise again.  She cast him a telling expression that he could not mistake for anything else.

_You want to join in?_

He got up and close, closer to her than she thought he would, touching her on the shoulder with his bionic hand.  Understanding, she tagged out to let him take the gun while she retrieved her rifle.  By now the jet had managed to circle around and was coming back for another try, its silver-grey body gleaming angrily in the light.  Snake squeezed the triggers and sent the jet twirling away from his fire, giving her the time to set the target in her crosshairs. 

_He'll never be yours._

The shot rang out loud, and the jet, once acrobatic with its maneuvers, suddenly dulled and went straight, low and under the chopper, giving Snake and Quiet just enough time to see the blood-splattered cockpit and dead pilot before it smashed into the sea. 

She gave Snake a triumphant look, enjoying seeing his expression as she confidently sat down, like what they had done was as normal as cooking breakfast.  Another angle was coming into her mind as she emptied her rifle of its bullets.  When they returned to base, they would separate her from him, and while that was not really a problem with her abilities, any steps she could take to ensure a successful mission were worth it.  Her looks would be helpful in getting him to lower his guard as well, though he hadn't seemed all that moved by her lack of attire as of yet. 

_But first and foremost, some good behaviour to earn trust._

She held out her rifle, and he accepted it, though his eyes were resting on her wrist with the cuff still dangling from it.  Rolling her eyes, she phased her free hand through the metal until it became captive inside again, then shifted in her seat so that her back was to him. 

To her bemusement he didn't talk to her at all, or try to get her attention in any way, just kept his one blue eye trained on her in silence.  This was abnormal.  People always instigated communication with her, demanding a response in increasingly agitated tones as soon as they found that she understood English.  Then came the insults, the spiteful looks, the boorish, dick-swinging posturing.  The worst had been disgustingly mistaking her muteness for total passivity and an invitation to handle her as a sexual toy.  Men that made that mistake never made another.  But here, there was just a wary inquisitiveness coming from Snake.  Did he not remember her?  Didn't he hate her for what she almost did to him--twice?  The questions remained unasked and unanswered.

For the first time in a long while, the silence made her uncomfortable. 

****

As Mother Base came into view, anxiety spawned in her like a weed.  XOF and Cipher had no concrete info on the base of operations of Big Boss and his men, but given how they had been utterly decimated nine years ago, Quiet had assumed they would have been a rag-tag band of stray mutts scraping by on a measly fort and licking their wounds.  In reality, the home of the Diamond Dogs sprawled wide across the waters, with multiple platforms linking to the command centre where their logo was proudly emblazoned on the top of the main tower.  Armed soldiers were everywhere and on high alert.  Doubt crept up alongside anxiety, and Quiet struggled to beat them both down.

Choppers surrounded them from both sides, and Snake paused at the open door when he noticed the laser sight on his chest.  Yet he didn't give the order to stand down because, she knew, he couldn't disagree with them about the threat _she_ posed to their home.  She tried to play up the non-threatening woman angle by nearing the other door to show herself in cuffs, but then Snake swiftly put his arm in front of her, and placed himself in the soldier's line of fire. 

Was he actually _protecting_ her?  It was completely unnecessary, she thought.  Enemy or not, the soldiers wouldn't recklessly start shooting at the very chopper their leader was on, and as a prisoner she had value for mining information.  Not that they would ever get anything from her, but they didn't know that. 

"No way is she setting foot on this base!"  She recognized the voice as belonging to Cranky--of course he would be the one dead-set against her presence. 

Snake, still blocking her from view, again held his hand up in front of her.  Not a word was uttered from his lips, but the move somehow told her so much of something that she couldn't process that she was dumbfounded. 

"Boss, she's with Cipher!"

Casting his eyes downward, Snake stepped back from the door and sat in his seat.  She imagined he must have been wondering what to do or say, trying to decide what the next best course of action was.  He was no doubt at least curious about her, but the safety of his men and their home were hardly trivial. 

_I'll make it easier for you._

She was at the edge of the chopper before she knew it, throwing him a tiny, upward curve of her lips before stepping off into the open air.  A few seconds of letting them all watch her falling, and she wiped herself out of sight, leaving black smoke in her wake. 

With an impact that would have turned anyone else into jelly, she slammed onto the platform, waiting for the soldiers to turn before becoming visible again.  Discarding her cuffs, she stood defiantly with shadowed eyes, challenging anyone they saw.

 _This was always the fun part._  This game always went the same, with cocksure men ready to show this stupid bitch who was boss, then their arrogance would quickly fall apart into confusion, fear and astonished exclamations as she'd disappear and reappear without warning.  Ordinarily these men would not have lived past this day.  But this was not an ordinary day. 

A man, curiously dressed similarly to a cowboy, stepped forward.  "Thermals!" He commanded, and Quiet instantly recognized him as the owner of the drawling voice.  When the men lowered their goggles and located her, she rewarded them by reappearing, and let them surround her. 

"Seize her!" Drawly said, looking straight into her eyes.  He was not as old as Snake, and had a refined look beyond just good breeding that had to be the result of a decent amount of time spent on grooming and style, like a haughty cat.  Yet she suspected that he easily had the skills to back up the swagger. 

A man in military uniform and a long coat stepped closer, albeit slower for lacking a leg and having to move on a crutch.  His right coat arm was limp and empty, and he hid his eyes with sunglasses.  Indignation reeked from him like bad cologne.  "Fire!" he said, confirming himself to her as Cranky. 

 _Definitely don't like you._   But she willed the black butterfly away from her face.  

"Miller!  She saved the Boss," Drawly argued. 

"She was saving herself!" Cranky-Miller yelled back.  Quiet wondered if it was really the missing leg that hindered him or his overwhelmingly sour nature. 

"Put her in the cell."

The calm voice had all heads, including hers, turn towards it.  She stared as Snake had his men lower their rifles.  His voice was deep and vaguely rumbly, exuding more authority in a single utterance than most men ever did with their juvenile yelling.

"Keep an eye on her," he said to the cowboy.  So she was not alone in thinking that Drawly was the more reasonable of the inner circle. 

Evidently that was all that Drawly needed to hear.  "Right.  Take her away," he told the men. 

Hesitation rooted Quiet in place--she was unused to being obedient towards strangers, and the idea of being separated from her main target sent her instincts in quiet turmoil. 

"What are you waiting for?  Move!"  _The cat could snarl quite well when he wanted to._  

A warmth was on her shoulder--it came from his hand touching her.  It was different from the cool stiffness of his bionic left hand that she had felt earlier, but no less reassuring.  She tried to remember the last time anyone had touched her, with or without any vile intent, and found she would have to go upsettingly far back in time.  Suddenly tired, she yielded and let herself be walked towards confinement. 

It was only much later when she was locked in the cell that she realized his pulling the jacket over her had been a gesture of kindness.


	3. Thorns

Being at Mother Base was like going back to the basics of sniper training.  Patience, calm, and an eye for detail were placed paramount as Quiet immersed herself in every aspect of the Diamond Dogs' life.  The number of men, which ones worked what shifts, each one's strengths and weaknesses, the number and locations of munitions and supplies--no shred of info was untaken.  It was a slower process than if she'd used all of her powers, but staying visible was the least she could do right now to calm the yapping pups down.  Her unbeatable vision alone gave her far more knowledge than anyone else's could; if the bald, squat gunner with the caterpillar mustache over at the combat platform found out that she knew about his stash of foot fetish magazines, he would've probably tried to shoot her on the spot out of embarrassment. 

She considered herself fortunate that her cell was exposed to the outside air.  It was her biggest concern when she had turned herself in, that she might be forced into a room indoors with a tiny window, or, at worst, none at all.  She could get by on artificial light, but it was comparable to surviving on food that never went above the quality of three-day-old pizza, and the stale, recycled air of sealed buildings inevitably made her feel dull and tired.  At least in this cage, she could eat and breathe the richest possible sustenance available.  And a view of the night stars, without the risk of being interrupted by combat, wasn't bad, either. 

Outside of her cell, she wasn't taken to other locations besides the labs within the medical platform, where doctors administered various tests while under the watchful eyes of several guards.  She raised no complaints the entire time, though an attempt to get her to "cover up" went very poorly.  Everyone struggled between their desire to let their eyes crawl over her body and their fervent distrust and revulsion of what she was, though in the end they all indulged in the former, anyway. 

Miller continued to be offended by her very existence on the base, only paying the occasional curt visits which were both forced and indulgent, made only to refuel his crankiness.  It didn't bother her, though.  As someone who also held a strong grudge towards another for causing disfigurement, Quiet could relate to Miller's animosity all too easily. 

Drawly, who Quiet learned was  named Ocelot, was a far more frequent customer, circling her cell many times over as he tried to figure her out like a fascinating puzzle.  He watched every part of her, from hair to toe, but it wasn't leering, just intensely curious.  If he felt any lust from seeing her body, he hid it masterfully well.  He tried speaking to her in multiple languages, yet didn't show surprise when she never responded.  The day after that, he was standing in front of her cell when music suddenly began playing through the speakers.  He left without saying a word, but she knew that he was responsible. 

Snake was the one she had seen the least of, a fact that sat with her like a pebble in her boot.  Only a couple of times she had seen him, but both times he had watched her from above, and then was quickly gone again.  Afterwards, it was another three weeks before she'd see him again, and it was when Ocelot had specifically asked him to come.  This time he actually came down the stairs to be at her level, and she had to do her best to look indifferent. 

He must have just returned from a mission--his desert camo was, again, marked with dirt and faded, brown blood, though he didn't have any open wounds.  Next to his grass-stained legs was a large dog with thick, grey fur that eyed Quiet suspiciously as they drew near.  She guessed him to be a wolf hybrid, and while he was still a kid, he was probably nearly a hundred pounds, and would only get bigger in the coming years.  She couldn't help raising an eyebrow as she saw that the dog had an eye-patch over his right eye, same as his owner did.  _What's next, matching camo outfits?_  

The fact that Snake still showed so little emotional reaction regarding her was getting under her skin.  As Ocelot relayed the medical team's findings on Quiet's body and abilities, Big Boss kept looking at her, but only with the careful mindset of a handler against a predator, not a vengeful man savouring an enemy's captivity. 

Suddenly eager to get a rise out of him again, she walked up to the bars and stood directly in front of him, letting her weight shift from one leg to the other, knowing how the movement would feature her curves.  A subtle sashay over to the shower and her audience followed as she turned the faucet.  The sun had been fairly hot this day so she kept the water cold, and delighted in the refreshing drink while aware of how it was making her body shine and her nipples hard.  Her actions were being explained by Ocelot to Snake throughout, and after she finished and was luxuriating in the puddle on the floor, her all-seeing eyes caught detected a sly tightening in the Boss's pants. 

She grinned to herself. _So, the Snake's alive.  Good, then._   _There's no point in killing a dead man._   Satisfied, she retired to her cot and lay down with her back to the two men. 

She heard the wolf whine, then the clicking of its claws and the sound of bootsteps as Snake walked around to her side.  The loyal canine snorted at her, and looked up at his owner for approval. 

Snake scratched the wolf behind his ears, then asked Ocelot, "Can't you send her on a mission?" 

She frowned and nearly sat up in surprise.  _Was he seriously asking that?_  

"By herself?  No," Ocelot said.  "But as you know, she does have skill...  Why not take her on one of your missions?  She seems to like you." 

Quiet didn't miss the suggestive tone in Ocelot's voice, and she turned her head to glower at him.  For his part, the cowboy ignored her, adding, "Of course, only if you think she'll be useful."  He fixed her  with a smug smile that made him appear the epitome of the cat that got the cream. 

 _What was wrong with these two?  They're actually entertaining the idea of letting me go on missions with the leader of their organization?  Me, a person they know tried to kill him already?_   Her brow was starting to hurt from how hard she was clenching the surrounding muscles together. 

Snake exchanged a few more words with Ocelot before he went back up the stairs, his wolf following right at his heels.  Ocelot waited a few minutes before speaking again. 

"Right now, I bet you're thinking something's seriously wrong with us, talking about letting you go on a mission with the Boss."  His well-kept boots punctuated the break between his next sentence with measured, elegant steps.  "See, the thing is I know that your 'captivity' is a charade.  You made it very clear when you showed up here that chains and bars mean nothing to you.  You could've killed the Boss a dozen times back then, but you didn't.  And that other time I lightened the guards, you still didn't leave your cell." 

He stopped when he was next to her cot, his spurs jingling quietly.  He leaned with his back against the wall, the shadows partially obscuring his face.  "You might've noticed, but the Diamond Dogs are comprised of men and women from all over the world, and all walks of life.  Soldiers, civilians, even refugees and war orphans leave behind their past associations and join under our banner.  Why?  Because they see the Boss as someone beyond the governments and politicians that used and abandoned them like garbage.  He's not the movie villain that kills a henchman to prove how serious he is.  He inspires a loyalty that supersedes borders and nationalities.  Those that once would've opened fire on him will now take bullets for him.  Give it some time and you'll see it for yourself... Unless he's already rubbed off on you." 

Quiet felt heat rush to her face, and her jaw set. 

"Of course, I'm not naive enough to think that someone as driven as you has changed sides already.  And ultimately it's the Boss' decision."  The cat pushed off the wall and approached, prompting Quiet to stand and face him. 

"But if I ever think you _are_ seriously trying to kill him, you will be up against me... And this."  From behind his back, Ocelot produced a .38 Special Smith  & Wesson Model 19.  Opening the cylinder, he pulled out one of the rounds and held it up for her to see; the tip was a plastic case filled with tiny round pellets. 

Quiet remained still, only moving her eyes back up to Ocelot's. 

The cat's playful tone was gone from his voice.  "I went to the trouble of having these made especially for you.  Rat-shot, filled with rock salt and DCMU, or Dichorophenyl-dimethylurea.  It's an herbicide that inhibits photosynthesis.  Haven't tested them yet, but I'm confident they'll have quite an effect on you."

A quick twirl around his finger before Ocelot clutched the revolver firmly, the barrel pointed at Quiet's heart.  "None of the other guards have these, because I'm the only one that needs them.  You're pretty good, but I'm better." 

Then, without another word, he returned the .38 to the holster in his back, and left the room. 

Quiet sank back onto her cot.  No matter how much she squeezed her fists, it didn't feel hard enough. 

The idea that the Boss was changing her mind about her mission was ridiculous.  She wanted to punch Ocelot for making the suggestion.  Of course she still wanted to kill him--she _would_ kill him--it was his fault that she was the thing she is now!  Skull Face had given her a second chance to complete her mission, and she would make sure to see it through. 

Snipers never took the first available shot, they took the best shot, even if that meant a lot of waiting.  She was merely being careful. 

****

Snake knew exactly who Quiet was.

Admittedly it had not occurred to him right away--his mind had been especially hazy during his conscious moments in the hospital, never mind the shrapnel in his head that was a frequent bearer of headaches and blurs in memory.  But once he had gotten up close to the mysterious sniper at the ruins, the puzzle pieces clicked into place and he remembered her as the deadly woman that had attacked him at Cyprus. 

Even after recognizing her, though, he was doubtful--when he last saw her, she was swallowed up in flames and fell through the window to several floors below.  Yet lying before him, there wasn't a single mark on her flawless, fair skin, not even a tan.  And as their earlier encounter had proven, she had zero problems with agility or mobility. 

He was no stranger to women that had peculiar wardrobe tastes, but he had been intrigued by why she chose to wear such impractical gear in the field.  He would be a liar if he said he felt nothing by seeing so much of her body--he wasn't a damn eunuch--but he wasn't a hormonal teenager, either.  She was no less a soldier now than she was when she came to him in the hospital, so he would continue to see her as such, rather than sexual temptation. 

Killing her had never been a serious possibility--at least, not right away.  At the time he had reasoned that she could be a source of information about Skull Face and his plans, not to mention he had a hunch that her powers might share something in common with those bizarre Skull soldiers he'd fought earlier.  But he felt no motivation to kill her out of retaliation; he knew she was just a soldier following orders, and even if her second attempt to take him out was saturated with personal feelings, following her defeat she'd been unexpectedly docile.  Her muteness threw a wrench in the works for interrogation, but Ocelot did have a point, she had incredible skills that would be a shame if put to waste.  Going up against Cipher and Skull Face, any assets could not be easily dismissed.

Not everyone agreed, of course.  Snake sighed to himself as he patted DD on the head and nodded towards the command center's main tower. 

"Come on, let's get this over with."

DD gave a gruff bark and followed. 

****

Snake knocked twice.  "Kaz, it's me."  When there was no answer, he opened the door and stepped inside, while DD remained in his place and sat down.

Miller's quarters was one of the larger ones in Mother Base, but it was not in any way luxurious.  The size was necessary to accommodate the sheer number of shelves and desks that were packed with files regarding missions, supplies, human resources, and all other business pertaining to the Diamond Dogs.  A bed was shoved in the corner like an afterthought, but some personal touches were here and there in the form of old photos, a modest home stereo system, and some Japanese trinkets. 

Miller himself was seated at his desk, looking over a report and checking data on one of his monitors.  "That last prisoner you extracted is proving himself to be pretty useful, Boss," he said.  "He's got some great ideas on how to further improve our energy efficiency by installing solar panels throughout Mother Base.  Should help lessen our reliance on fossil fuels at least a little."

"I need to talk to you about Quiet."

Snake could see Miller grind his teeth as he dropped the papers he was holding and turned to look at him. 

"All right, let's talk.  Where to start--about how she's got the men on edge, worried that they've got a monster in their home?  How she can disappear at any time and sneak into any place she wants?  She's going to rot this place from the inside, Boss."

"If that's true, it says pretty disappointing things about the Diamond Dogs.  Are we so weak that we're going to crumble because of a single soldier?"

Miller banged his crutch against the table leg.  "She's not just a soldier, she's Cipher's monster!  And she's only playing the good girl so that we let our guard down and make it easier for her to take us out!"

"How long has it been since she's arrived?  She hasn't made any unprovoked moves on anyone, and Ocelot's keeping a close eye on her."

Miller shook his head, exasperated, as he leaned hard on his crutch to stand up.  "What is it about this woman, Boss?  Has it just been too long since you got laid, so you got caught up in some dickful thinking?"

Snake's eyes narrowed.  "Kaz--"

"If that's the case, you might have some competition on your hands.  I've heard some men are thinking about trying to give her a lesson in manners, maybe you should lead the class, get some stress out of your system--"

_SLAM!_

Snake had Miller over his shoulder and splayed out on the floor before the latter knew what had happened.  Some papers fluttered away from their resting places from the impact, and Miller's crutch clattered by the desk.  DD was up on all fours, concerned for his master but still staying in the doorway. 

"Kaz," Snake said, his voice even and calm but weighted with a tone that demanded full attention, "You're my friend.  You wear your heart on your sleeve, and I've always admired that.  The men see your passion for this organization and it lights a fire in them in a way that I could never do.  Mother Base has already grown big enough to rival several small countries' armies, and that is because of you.  But right now, your rage is controlling you, and it is making you ugly and stupid."

He picked up the crutch and brought it over to Miller, kneeling in front of him.  "While she's on this base, she will be treated no worse than the rest of us.  No one is to lay a finger on her.  Got it?"

Not waiting for an answer, Snake reached out and pulled Miller up onto his feet, shoving the crutch into his chest. 

"There's nothing wrong with holding onto your pain, Kaz.  Just don't let it drag you down with it." 

Snake left the door open as he exited the room.


	4. New Ideas

After Ocelot's lecture, it didn't take long for Quiet to end her self-imposed handicap.  Being so used to freely running around wherever she pleased, restlessness and boredom had a greater grasp on her than before she had undergone her "changes." 

Still, she was prudent enough to be choosy about when and where she would venture from her cell to explore Mother Base.  Brazenly walking around in view of the soldiers would've been too confrontational to do anyone any good, and she didn't care for the potential panic that could arise if they suddenly noticed her cell was empty during the day.  So she would slip out most often during the night or the narrow windows of dawn and dusk when visibility and guard concentration were to her advantage.  Staying invisible the whole time, she scoured the massive base, noting every detail and staff member she could see.  Each platform had its own areas of interest, and she explored them all. 

The medical platform had a fully-staffed sick bay where soldiers and other sick or injured were treated.  To balance out the bleached-white fluorescent lighting and all-too familiar smell of hospital disinfectant, indoor plants and flowers were strategically placed in all rooms.  A recently-built wing dedicated to rehabilitation included counselors, physiotherapists and an exercise gym so that recovery could go faster and smoother.  A bulletin board in the lobby had posters advertising everything including group therapy, AA meetings, acupuncture, massage, and meditation.  It was so different from the many military bases that Quiet had seen and heard of, where the general philosophy had been to get men patched up and out into the field again as soon as possible. 

The support platform was where the choppers and other vehicles were housed when not in use, and soldiers that provided backup were stationed.  There was also a stable for some horses, and a grassy, outdoor pen for them to move around in.  Support kept in constant contact with the intel and combat platforms, and monitored the status of active soldiers as well as world media and weather patterns--anything that could have an impact on their missions.  Staff from the support and combat platforms would also regularly train with each other, trying to outdo each other in CQC and target practice. 

Since Ocelot was usually at the Intel platform, Quiet had to be extra cautious whenever she was there, and even when she was, she felt it wise to not be in the same room as him.  As expected, he was never seen without the .38 that had the DCMU rounds.  In an effort to bridge the language barriers between the personnel, the Intel team had requisitioned multilingual dictionaries, and encouraged all Diamond Dog staff to at least learn the basics of one other language that they were not fluent in, with Ocelot pointing out that such knowledge could be invaluable in espionage. 

The loudest platform by far was base development, where raw materials and resources and anything else that Big Boss or other staff had gathered would be received and processed.  It could be amusing sometimes in an absurd way, to see how next to the shipping containers of fuel, ore and chemicals, sat a random assortment of trucks, tanks, mortars, medicinal plants and wild animals in capture cages or temporary pens.  Construction crews and machinery were also located here, with Miller overseeing all plans for base expansion and delegating orders to the workers.  He also handled the designation of new recruits to their stations, carefully examining each person's profile to determine where they would be best suited.  He was certainly a capable administrator, Quiet acknowledged, though she had noticed that Miller showed some bias by choosing several of the more attractive women, few as they were, to be assigned to base development where he would spend the most time.  

The most peculiar was the R&D platform, which reminded Quiet of the scenes in any James Bond movie where the titular character visited the lab of his quartermaster, Q.  From the walls of the research labs hung an eclectic collection of items including a crocodile-head mask, a Japanese katana, a lipstick gun, some vaguely creepy marionettes, boots containing a hidden dagger in the toe, and a rocket launcher disguised as a boombox.  Dummies covered with scorch marks and missing some limbs were scattered here and there in the testing area, waiting for the next new form of abuse that the R&D team would cook up.  The dedicated scientists and engineers had creative free reign to craft all sorts of toys to be used in the field such as special ammunition and weapons (Quiet was especially interested in plans for an anti-materiel rifle), but also indulged in a zany side that produced a rocket-propelled bionic arm and a dumbfounding number of cardboard boxes with different camouflage patterns printed on them.  There was also a small stack of adult magazines on one of the researcher's desks, and Quiet had to wonder why anyone would leave such a thing out in the open. 

In an area kept separate from the rest of the R&D facilities, Quiet had found a meek, awkward man with glasses named Emmerich.  Apparently crippled, he instead made his way around by use of a set of advanced titanium prosthetics that looked unnecessarily robot-like.  Rumours she had overheard from the staff told her that Emmerich had originally worked with Big Boss, but then betrayed him and played a major part in the successful attack on Militaires San Frontières nine years ago.   Only now, after working for Skull Face on some top-secret project, he had defected to the Diamond Dogs. 

 

Quiet had frowned as she digested this information.  This cowering simp of a man had been instrumental in bringing down the Boss' first Mother Base?  And he was now allowed back here, _alive?_   She would've expected Miller to have thrown the spectacled scientist off the edge of the platform at the first chance he got.  But instead, Emmerich had been given a large hangar (guarded by 24-hours security) to convert into his own lab, and though he had no assistants, was provided with materials and equipment to work his projects. 

 

Quiet realized that contrary to Miller, who displayed what he lacked as a reminder, or Big Boss, who supplemented his missing arm merely out of practicality, Emmerich seemed as proud of his new "legs" as a strutting peacock.  Every now and then he would stop to make sure that all the joints were in perfect order, and if he found some sort of blemish on the metal, he would thoroughly wipe it away.  A quick glance at some of his plans and she concluded that this man was a sci-fi geek in the truest sense, and must have approached developing weapons with the same joy that boys had when playing with toy robots.  But most troubling of all was how Emmerich apparently showed no conflict over his defection to the Diamond Dogs.  Alone in his lab, happily tinkering away at his next invention, he never gave any indication that he was burdened with the remorse that came standard to those that had committed a wrong.  To him, Quiet thought, loyalty must be a flexible thing that extended to whatever side was most convenient for him in the moment.  Disgusted, she had tipped his coffee mug over on his desk, letting the scalding drink splash over his pants and cause him to wail in pain while she exited.

 

If she could find time and opportunity to visit only one area a day, it was always the command platform.  She would walk along the perimeter, scale the towers all the way to the top, and watch the birds flying overhead, keeping alert for the moment a chopper would near the helipad.  Nearly every time the Boss left on a sortie, she was around to keep an eye on him.  Sometimes weeks would pass before he came back, while others he would return on the same day, only to leave again on another mission.  Usually DD went with him, the wolf-dog's tail wagging eagerly, but when missions were solo, the canine companion would whine disappointedly and bark at the chopper as it took off. 

When the Boss did spend some downtime at Mother Base, Quiet saw another side to the legendary soldier that she had not imagined.  He would drop by a platform to check in on its progress, and while he didn't go out of his way to chat with everyone, he always listened to anyone who wanted to speak with him.  At the support platform he would ask the keepers for updates on the horses' condition, and slip a piece of apple or carrot into the feed bags to appreciative neighs.  He gave suggestions to the R&D staff, and sometimes sparred with members of the combat unit.  He never held back in a fight, and defeated his opponents every time, but always gave them constructive advice on what they needed to improve.  Some of the people he had extracted during missions had been civilians, and were still struggling to adjust from the trauma of being prisoners to their new situation on this offshore army-nation.  To them the Boss showed paternal patience and compassion, assuring their safety and saying that by being on this base, they were all family.  To demonstrate a consciousness of other culture's practices and religions, the Boss also had rooms set aside for prayer, and made sure the mess hall staff was capable of providing food for those following dietary rules that were bound to their faith. 

And when everything was done, after he had dealt with the needs of everyone else on Mother Base, the Boss took what little time was left for himself, and Quiet saw yet another, deeper part of him.  He would return to the command platform, allowing a weary sigh as he pulled out his strange "phantom cigar."  He would sit with his back against the wall at times while he did this, taking in the view before him, sometimes listening to music on his Walkman.  At night he lay down on the helipad to gaze up at the stars.  When he was finished with his cigar, he would switch off his Walkman and call for DD, and a distant bark could be heard before the wolf-dog came dashing to his master's side.  As much as DD may have been a trained attack dog, when he was alone with the Boss like this he was no different than a happy pet, jumping around excitedly with his big tongue hanging out.  The Boss was at ease too, and even as he pushed DD away to stop the canine's slobbery kisses, Quiet could tell he was smiling, and he made sure to give his furry buddy all the ear scratches and belly rubs he demanded.  Sometimes they would go for a run, making the trek to a random platform and back, sweaty and gulping down water once finished.  A couple of times they had played fetch with a length of knotted boat line, an activity that Quiet imagined was, in principle, to keep DD's retrieval training up to par, though in her observation this was more like master and companion just enjoying each other's company. 

There was something about secretly watching him do all these things that made Quiet feel squirmingly indecent, yet powerful at the same time.  She kept reminding herself that this was all just reconnaissance; she was merely staking out her target and trying to pinpoint his weakness to get her perfect kill.  The quickening of her heart and tension that gripped her body whenever she saw him return from a mission was the same as what predators felt when they saw prey appear in the distance, she told herself. 

Throughout her training in XOF, she had been taught that the legendary soldier once known as Naked Snake was a traitor to his country and a threat to the stability of the world.  And while her personal encounters with him and her time spent at Mother Base had reinforced that he had the skills and manpower to be a force to be reckoned with, he was also devoted to his growing "family," and merciful to enemy soldiers. 

She recalled being mesmerized when she had witnessed him break up a brawl between two soldiers.  "We don't draw weapons on comrades," the Boss had said then, like a father reminding a misbehaving child.  "Look around you--this is your family."  And to drive the point home, he had forced the man's knife, initially primed to stab the other soldier, into his own chest, despite the wielder's horrified struggling.  Even afterwards, when the crowd had dispersed, he had chosen to make them better their CQC with personal lessons, rather than dispense the disciplinary action that Ocelot originally brought up.

Quiet knew Skull Face would not have done any of that.  The XOF leader was fittingly gruesome in both visage and nature, and highly articulate (to the point of loquaciousness) in voicing his revulsion for his enemies.  There had been a certain strength to how impassioned and purposeful he sounded when he spoke--it had been enough to convince her that she was doing the right thing, that a handful of dirty deeds were a given to pave the path to a greater future. 

But Big Boss... He spoke way less, and was brusque when he did, but Quiet felt there were so many words embedded in his looks, expressions, and gestures alone.  And rather than leading through fear and intimidation, he went by example of understanding and equality.  As Ocelot had said, he _did_ inspire loyalty in the men.  There was a sense of belonging in the Diamond Dogs. 

 _Belonging._   That word stuck in Quiet's head like an obnoxious Post-it note. 

****

One morning, after a fretful night's sleep, she saw a chopper flying overhead, and found herself seized by a nameless urge. 

 _Screw the guards, let them panic._   She made her way to the command platform and approached the landed chopper, invisible.  Peeking inside, she'd seen her rifle, and her heart leapt with relief--she had been furious at not being able to find it anywhere on Mother Base--and realized this must also mean that Big Boss was boarding the chopper for a mission.  She had then stood by the door, and waited.  It didn't matter where they were going, she just wanted to _go._   

Sure enough, the Boss showed up, this time with Miller and Ocelot in tow.  DD was nowhere to be seen, which Quiet was glad for--she imagined the canine would blow her cover right away by sniffing her out. 

"Our weather surveillance indicates heavy turbulence out there," Ocelot said over the beating of the helicopter blades.  "Try not to get knocked out of the sky."

"Got it."

The Boss was about to get on--Quiet wanted him to hurry so that she could board as well--when he slowed and looked at Miller, who was staring in her direction. 

Quiet frowned--he couldn't possibly see her-- _especially him_ \--but he took a couple more steps towards her before smacking his crutch against the door with a sharp clank.  It shocked her more than it should have, and the lapse in focus caused her to undo her invisibility.  Everyone was looking at her, but Ocelot was the only one who didn't seem surprised.

"Where does she think she's going?" Miller asked. 

"You want to head out with the Boss?" Ocelot guessed, amusement crossing his features.  Quiet shifted uncomfortably and looked away.  She felt like a guilty teenager caught in the middle of trying to sneak out of the house. 

Miller sneered at the suggestion.  "That'll be the day."

Ocelot shrugged.  "I don't see a problem with it, as long as she's with you," he said, looking at the Boss.  "She's a crack shot--a damn fine scout.  Well suited for a clandestine op.  More than you can say for the others."

"There's nothing damn fine about this-- _thing!_ " Miller spat. 

Quiet found her emotions get the better of her a little as the butterfly spread across her face. 

With a quick flourish, Ocelot twirled one of his revolvers out of his hip holsters and handed it to her.  "Here."  Then, pointing upward, "Blades." 

Quiet was starting to consider the possibility that this cowboy might be one of the most dangerous people in all of Diamond Dogs on account of how impossible it seemed to read his true motives.  Nonetheless, she raised her arm, concentrated, and amidst Miller's protests, fired three shots flawlessly through the spinning helicopter blades, stopping to switch hands before doing the same thing again.  Everyone was silent as she gave the gun back to Ocelot and stood back against the chopper, her hands on her hips. 

Eventually Big Boss stepped up to her.  "You want in?" he asked plainly.

 _Always so direct._   But before she had a chance to give any manner of response, Miller cut in.  "This is ridiculous!  She doesn't talk!  How could you possibly stay in communication!" 

Quiet had to restrain the desire to punch Miller in the face and shatter his sunglasses.  Yet she could hardly utter a rebuke, given her condition.  And as a soldier she did understand the importance of having constant communication between team members.  She looked down, crestfallen.

"Right," the Boss said, his gaze staying on her.  "I like working solo, anyway." 

Was it her imagination that he sounded a little disappointed?  Either way, she now felt too deflated and embarrassed to stick around.  She retreated to her cell without looking back once, only hearing the sound of the departing chopper. 

****

Things could have been going better for Snake.

What should have been a fairly straightforward mission involving the extraction of a transport truck had turned into a bona fide clusterfuck.  Just as he had infiltrated the Nova Braga airport and made a positive ID on the truck, a team of those damned Skulls had shown up and descended on him.  As if their speed and agility weren't enough, now they displayed the ability to form a bizarre, rock-like armour over their bodies, and could somehow summon waves of stone spikes to burst from the ground.    

With gritted teeth, Snake opened fire on the closest Skull with his assault rifle, pausing just enough to pull out a grenade and toss it at the stunned soldier before jumping out of the path of another's spike waves.  He scrambled to his feet and ducked behind a wall, the blast of the grenade booming in his ears.  Looking back, he saw the defeated Skull, and instead of collapsing into a bloody heap, it had simply faded away into black smoke. 

 _Whatever_ , he thought to himself.  _One down, three to go._   He could hear footsteps coming close. 

Swapping out a new magazine into his MRS-4, he laid down a decoy and all the C4 he had next to it, then backed away quickly to hide behind a tall stack of shipping palettes.  Even though he wasn't that far away, that strange mist that the Skulls brought with them made it a challenge to see anything beyond a few feet.  Then he heard a tiny beep, and a boisterous puff of air as the decoy inflated.  The Skull immediately lunged forward with its machete and sliced the balloon copy of Snake in half. 

_Gotcha._

He hit the switch on the detonator and the C4 exploded, decimating the Skull along with it.  Just as he started to turn around, he caught a glimpse of a blurry black object flying at him, and fell back to dodge the projectile.  The jagged boulder whooshed past him to crash through a chain-link fence, mangling the steel poles as easily as if they were balsawood.  The third and fourth Skulls had managed to flank him, and now glared at him with their unsettling, glowing eyes. 

Snake fired again, but the Skulls both zipped away before a single round hit them.  He grunted and got to his feet, only to get knocked down again when a boulder came charging through the building he had been standing by.  The boulder itself didn't hit him, narrowly flying above his head, but his breath escaped him as a torrent of glass, drywall, wood and metal spilled onto him, sharp pieces cutting at his face and tearing into his fatigues.  His MRS-4 was ripped from his hands and buried under a filing cabinet. 

He coughed, which puffed the dirt on the ground into an eye-irritating cloud, and moved to drag himself up when the dull ache in his right leg registered.  A steel shelf carrying several heavy boxes had landed on it in the crash--Snake imagine there'd be a terrible bruise on his thigh later on. 

The radio buzzed in his ear as one of the Skulls materialized a few feet to his right.  _"Boss, you all right!?  You've still got to secure that truck!"_ Miller's voice urged.

Snake rolled his eyes as he scrambled out of the debris and drew his .45 pistol.  The area around his feet was peppered with shots from the Skull's bullpup rifle as he dashed to new cover by a storage shed.  "Kind of busy right now, Kaz!" he snarled into his mic.  He winced as some bullets pinged the corner of the shed, the metal siding sparking. 

He tossed an empty magazine as far as possible towards the open area of the airfield, and watched and listened as the Skulls both let loose a barrage of gunfire in the direction of the noise.  They were overzealous, and had each wasted at least a dozen rounds on the little distraction. 

Sucking in air through his teeth, Snake did a brass check.  He had ten left in his pistol, and no more grenades or explosives remaining.  Feeling a wetness on his head, he swept a hand across his hairline and saw blood on his glove--he must've gotten nicked by one of the Skull's bullets earlier. 

Another round of gunfire hailed against the shed, and Snake braced himself--judging by his count, the Skulls' rifles had to be empty soon. 

A growling entered his ears, and Snake's eyes widened when his mind registered who it belonged to.  A loud bark, and sounds of a struggle--he looked beyond his cover and saw DD, with his great jaws clamped onto one of the Skulls' armoured forearm.  Even a soldier as powerful as this one had difficulty keeping balance with DD's sharp fangs digging into him, and his remaining bullets were fired wildly off-target until the rifle clicked empty. 

Snake left cover and quickly put two shots into the Skull's head, the second round blowing through its glowing eye in a greenish, gooey splatter.  DD kept his bite firmly in place even as the Skull began to stagger, giving his master the time to come within point-blank range and empty the rest of his pistol into his opponent's head.  Once the grey body finally went limp, DD let go and stepped back, watching the Skull fizzle away into smoke. 

There was barely a moment for Snake to catch his breath before he heard the unearthly appearance of the last Skull from behind him.  Whirling around, he used his arms to deflect the black machete, using the momentum to snatch away the blade as he spun and buried it into the Skull's exposed back. 

The mutated soldier made a garbled roar, but Snake wasted no time, yanking out the machete to slice his opponent's neck and finally drive it into its skull, pushing as hard as he could until it went past the mouth.  The Skull's now-cleaved facial expression was permanently skewed in a look of slack-jawed terror, but it didn't last long as it, like its brothers, disappeared to leave only a wake of smoke. 

With the Skulls gone, their sickly yellow mist quickly cleared, and Snake found it easier to breathe again.  Motioning for DD following him, he made his way back to the transport truck and drove it out of the airport, the canine sitting in the passenger's seat.

"This is Ahab, I'm leaving the hot zone now with the truck.  Have a pickup waiting for me at the following coordinates."

"Understood, Boss, we'll have a chopper there ASAP."

Once they were at a safe distance and Snake had attached a fulton balloon to the truck, he took a moment to look at DD. 

"Didn't I tell you to stay outside of the airport?" he asked the canine, ignoring the loud creaking coming from the truck as it was lifted away into the air. 

DD cocked his head to the side, emitting a questioning sound. 

"You disobeyed a direct order, soldier," Snake continued with his arms crossed.  "That's a pretty serious offense."

The dog's eyes darted away from his master's, and he lowered his ears a little, though he quickly recovered with a plaintive whine as if defending his actions. 

Snake sighed, suddenly drained of any energy to be admonishing, especially towards a dog.  "You did help me out, though," he said, kneeling to pat his companion's head.  "Thanks, boy."  DD immediately brightened and gave a wide, open-mouthed smile, his tail wagging. 

****

In the safety of the chopper, after a quick debriefing with Miller, Snake got an incoming call from Ocelot.

_"Boss, Quiet still hasn't made any moves.  It's got me thinking."_

_How dangerous._   "What?"

_"If you took her on a mission, she might break her silence."_

Snake raised an eyebrow.  "You want to let her out?" 

_"Sure--make her no different to the others.  Everyone you pick up works for themselves, right?"_

"But her--"

_"I say work with her, see what happens.  I wouldn't ask this of anyone but you.  On missions I'll make sure we have someone observing from a distance, and she won't be allowed access to all of the base.  As for Miller... Well, sometimes it's better to ask forgiveness than permission."_

Snake could already picture how much "fun" that bridge would be to cross when it came around. 

Ocelot went on, _"The best part is, hiding is her specialty--if no one sees her leave the base, the staff'll be none the wiser."_

"And if she gets away?" Snake asked. 

 _"If that happens... you'll have to 'take care' of her,"_ Ocelot replied begrudgingly.  _"But I have faith in you, Boss.  I think Quiet sees something in you."_

"It's a big risk."

_"But, it's for the good of all of us.  And besides, you can't deny her talent.  Her unique skills and abilities would give you a hell of an edge out there.  Consider this, too: say you manage to have some successful missions with her.  Eventually we can let word out about it, and the men will start to not be so anxious about her presence--'if the Boss can handle her, we don't have to be that worried after all.'  In time, she may stop having a negative effect on staff morale."_

"What about her biggest problem--the fact that she won't talk?"

_"She may not talk, but she does have a voice.  Guards have heard her humming to the music I set to play in her cell.  I've had R &D make a dialed-back version of an iDroid just for her.  She can use it to mark locations of enemies and other points of interest on her map, and that information will be automatically sent to you.  But her iDroid won't have access to the Diamond Dogs' network, so she won't be able to see information about our staff or combat deployment.  In essence, she'll be connected solely to you."_

Snake inhaled deeply, looking ahead.  DD was preoccupied with chewing a big piece of bone, his reward for earlier.  While Snake was thankful the wolf had been there to help him this time, he knew that neither DD nor D-Horse would be suited to go against certain enemies without the serious risk of getting killed.  Recent missions had been taking Snake to areas that had way more men and firepower to  contend with, and the addition of those Walker Gears only made things trickier. 

"I'll think it over." 

No more was said on the matter.  A week would come to pass, with some more mundane errands involving the odd prisoner rescue, minefield clearing or the retrieval of weapon plans and resources, before Snake was faced with a mission involving the elimination of some rebel soldiers held prisoner at a mine.  He read over the dossier carefully, spoke privately to Ocelot, and headed over to the medical platform. 

Quiet was lying on her cot, her toes absently wiggling to the beat of Hall & Oates' "Maneater."  She looked at him curiously, seeming aware that this was not just another visit. 

Withdrawing a key from his pocket, Snake went towards the door.  Quiet's lips parted, and she stood up and slowly came closer.  The lock clicked, and Snake pulled the door open.  She stopped once, then kept walking, until she was just barely within the cell's perimeter. 

He held out the specialized iDroid and a radio set to her.  She gave a quizzical expression. 

"I'm heading out.  You wanna join me?"

Quiet blinked.  Snake thought her cheeks might have flushed a little, but it could just as well have been his imagination.  A grin spread across her soft, pink lips, and she took the gear from his hands, giving a clear hum of assent. 

It was a sound he found an odd appreciation for, and he nodded, not noticing that his own lips had curled upward in an involuntary smirk. 

"Good.  Your gear's in the chopper.  Meet me there in five."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The items mentioned on the walls of the R&D lab are things that were featured in previous MGS games and James Bond movies. :D


	5. Mud and Diamonds

The giddiness that Quiet felt was overwhelming.  Not only was she finally leaving the confines of her cage and the base after so long, her trusty rifle back in her hands, but she was going to a new country, a new continent. 

There was also the fact that she was in close proximity with the Boss again.  With no bars between them, and no hateful guards or Miller around, there was a tension to the air that she likened to electricity.  Her heart pounded with excitement, and she had to struggle to keep still during their ride on the chopper. 

The Boss, on the other hand, was as calm as ever, listening to the mission details being relayed to him via radio as he looked at the map on his iDroid.  This time he wasn't wearing camouflage, but instead a curiously modern-looking, all-black suit that had built-in layers of armour and was snugly fitted to his body.  Quiet didn't know what other special benefits the suit had, though she had noticed that the Boss was considerably less loud when moving around in it.  It was also a sensible choice, considering that they were commencing the mission after sunset. 

As expected, he didn't speak to her outside of going over how to use her iDroid, and how he tended to operate.  He preferred to slip in unnoticed and avoid bombastic firefights like something out of a Hollywood movie, though he did concede that sometimes, despite best efforts, things could "get ugly." 

"If that happens," he said, "You'll have my back."

He had said it in such an ambiguous way, she wasn't sure if he was making a command or asking a question.  In the end, she just made a tiny tilt of her chin and hummed in the positive. 

The pilot, Pequod, had certainly been surprised to see her when she materialized inside the chopper  after taking off from Mother Base, but when the Boss assured him there was no need to worry, the younger man relaxed and turned away from her again to focus on his job.  After the hostility Quiet had faced daily with the guards around her cell, she appreciated Pequod's casual attitude, as well as his steadfast loyalty in the Boss. 

By the time they made it to the drop point, the sun was merely a sliver of orange on the horizon, but to Quiet's enhanced eyes, the landscape's beauty was still as clear as if it were day.  A welcome change from the arid deserts and rocky cliffs of Afghanistan, there was a myriad of colours here that she hadn't realized she missed until now; the red soil and green grass and trees made for a striking contrast and made everything look teeming with life.  

"Let's go," the Boss called out upon landing on the ground, the grass dancing from the beating of the chopper blades. 

Quiet followed suit, pausing to meet his eyes and tap a finger to her earpiece before dashing away.  One of their targets, the only one they had a photo of, was located somewhere at the Bampeve plantation, while the rest were held prisoner in the Kungenga mines.  She was to take care of the stray, then meet up with the Boss at the mines.

_Piece of cake--for me._

Running through the expanse, leaving clouds of dirt behind her, Quiet couldn't help but wear a wide smile.  The air on her body was wonderful, and to her right there was the sound of a group of jackals calling out as they began their nightly hunt.  The humid environment was also a plus for her--she could go for much longer stretches before she'd have to find water to drink.  She was already thinking she wanted to go on more missions with the Boss. 

That unbidden thought threatened to cause her gait to falter, but then she saw the plantation come into view, and she pushed all distractions aside. 

She bounded up onto a small cliff overlooking the plantation, and pulled her rifle in front of her while she surveyed the area.  There was a scattering of military tents, small shacks with straw roofs and patchwork corrugated metal and plastic walls, and a number of fires burning in oil drums.  Over two dozen men roamed the plantation, but no more than a minute had passed before Quiet made a positive ID on her target. 

 _Hello._   She followed him through her scope as he casually strolled between some tents and made his way to a more secluded area.  She quickly understood what his plan was as he set his rifle down against a rock and unzipped his pants.

 _We can't all go out in style,_ she thought dryly, before steadying her aim and squeezing the trigger.  A muffled shot, and the target collapsed in a heap. 

A quick sweep to see that no one had noticed, and she jumped down from her perch and crept near her kill.  Ignoring the blood oozing from the man's head, and the urine still trickling from between his legs, she patted the body down for anything that might be useful.  His pockets turned up only a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, but tucked in his shirt he had been wearing a small, cloth bag that hung from a string of leather around his neck.  The bag was filled with rough diamonds.  She tucked them into her a pouch on her belt, and dug her feet into the dirt, before stopping to remember that she wasn't working alone right now.  A dead body would cause a stir through the radio, and reach the men at the mines quickly. 

Scrunching her nose from the smell of piss, Quiet picked up the corpse and ran.  Once she was a couple of kilometers away, she chose a hilly spot surrounded by trees and tall grass and dropped her cargo off like a sack of potatoes.  Then she made a beeline for the mines. 

****

Infiltration had thankfully gone smoothly. 

The company of Rogue Coyote soldiers clearly weren't expecting much resistance, and there was plenty of cover to hide in.  A few tranq shots and sleeper holds later, and Snake had already made his way inside of the mines, with the number of guards lowered by six. 

He slinked through the tunnels slowly, rifle at the ready.  There was a soft rumbling behind him that he recognized as thunder.  It was going to rain soon.  He followed the recently worn path to the holding cell at the end. 

Five people sat inside--his targets. 

 _"Bingo,"_ Miller's voice cut into Snake's ear via radio. 

He squinted, but it was not just because of the harsh yellow lamps lining the tunnels.  The rebel Mbele soldiers were children.  They were all small boys--maybe older than they looked due to malnutrition--but hardly the seasoned adults Snake had been expecting. 

One of them raised his head and stared at Snake with large, dark, doe-like eyes, then poked a scrawny arm through the bars.  He opened his palm to show an offering. 

Snake lowered his weapon and took the object.  It sparkled brilliantly as if it had its own inner light.   Four more hands emerged, each one holding their own treasures. 

 _"Their lives for a fistful of diamonds, huh?"_ Miller said. 

Snake put the stone back into the child's hand.  The move must have been taken as a refusal, as the children all shrank back from the bars, angry and dejected. 

_"They can't go home.  They've only got two options: Heaven, or Hell."_

_No need to be so dramatic, Kaz._   "No.  There's another."  He raised his rifle. 

 _"Outer Heaven...?"_   Snake could easily see Miller nodding as the understanding dawned on him.  _"Tape's rolling, Boss."_

They would have to run quickly, he knew.  The noise would draw the rest that were outside.  He fired through the bars, keeping his aim steady so that no shots would ricochet or hit the children.  When the screaming died down, the captives looked around, puzzled, then noticed the metal bucket behind them, riddled with holes and knocked away from its spot where an impressive cache of diamonds was hidden. 

"How 'bout it, Kaz?" Snake said.  "Looks like our client just got outbid."

_"We got the recording.  Objective accomplished.  We'll bring them back to Mother Base."_

Even as Snake unlocked the door and urged the children to come out, they were slow to move--their harsh upbringing had beaten away easy trust and gratitude a long time ago.  But he knew that young minds were still curious.  He activated his iDroid, and the holographic map projection bloomed blue near his face, immediately drawing the children's attention. 

Emmerich came to Snake's mind.  _Fancy toys never failed,_ he thought.

_"Now, for the RV... There's some high ground downriver.  I'll have the chopper set down there.  Lead the kids to safety.  Listen.  The kids don't get hurt.  No matter what, you bring them back alive.  Exit the cave and turn left, then pass through the swamp, and follow the river downstream."_

_"Right,"_ Snake said, dragging out the word.  "One of them is hurt--I'm going to have to carry him."  He swept up the diamonds into his fist and dropped them in a belt pouch while scooping up the injured boy with his free hand and draping him over his shoulders.  The wounded leg was sloppily bound with dirty bandages, and a stink wafted from them--a telltale sign of infection. 

He looked every single one of the children in the eyes.  "We need to be careful," he intoned seriously.  "When I say go, you go.  When I say stop, you stop.  Got it?" 

They all nodded, confirming to Snake that they understood at least a basic level of English. 

"Let's go."

He crept back up to the mine entrance, scanning the outside while the children scurried behind him. 

It was raining heavily now, and many of the men were wearing hooded rain slickers.  _You won't catch cold, but you're definitely limiting your field of vision_ , Snake thought.  His ears perked as he heard footsteps.  A guard had come to investigate after hearing the gunfire. 

Snake turned his head to make eye contact with the children, holding a finger to his lips.  They nodded, holding their breath.  Tightening his grip on the boy on his shoulders, he pressed against the wall and waited. 

 _Squish.  Squish.  Squish._   The rain was making the ground muddy, and the footsteps sounded like the guard was trudging through stew.  The muzzle of a rifle gradually bobbed into view like a long-necked bird, and the second the guard was close enough, Snake grabbed his arm and spun the man face-first into the rocky wall with a painful crack.  One of the boys gasped. 

Snake supported the man's unconscious body to let it slowly collapse onto the ground before readjusting his grip on the boy.  He tapped into his comlink.  "Quiet?" he said in a low voice.  "You around?" 

There was a brief pause, and he almost began to worry, until there came the buzz of static, then, _"Mmm."_  

He exhaled.  "Did you complete your first objective?"

 _"Mm-mmm."_   Snake's iDroid beeped, and he checked it to see that Quiet had sent him a photo of her target, with a clean shot through the left temple. 

"Good.  I've secured my targets, they're coming with us.  I'm going to need you to clear a path, but don't lay waste, just pick off the real troublemakers.  Sending our exfil route to you now." 

Her reply took a little longer this time--he imagined she was confused as to why they were bringing targets rather than eliminating them--but she eventually hummed a yes, and he saw her location icon on his iDroid map began moving towards their location.

Even in the sneaking suit, Snake couldn't walk silently in the mud, but the rainfall did enough to hide him and his group from the guards' hearing.  The downpour was also making the men weary, and they didn't bother being as attentive to their surroundings.  This made it a lot easier for Snake to extinguish a few torches here and there as they went, as the weather was already forcing the fires to struggle to stay lit. 

By the time they reached the river, they were completely soaked.  The boys were slowing down, tired, and Snake figured they could take a breather while they hid behind a small shack and a wall of sandbags.  Up ahead were some lookouts on the ledges overlooking the river.  If they tried to proceed, they would surely be spotted.  For a second Snake thought he had imagined seeing a thin, green laser flicker onto the men's heads--it had disappeared in the blink of an eye--until he heard a humming in his earpiece.  He didn't recognize what song the tune might have belonged to, but he knew who it was coming from. 

"Fire," he whispered. 

For every suppressed shot, a man went down, setting up a trail of dead guards leading to their goal a few hundred meters ahead.  One of the boys exclaimed in surprise at the morbid domino effect, but thankfully no soldiers alive were close enough at this point to hear him.  Snake signaled to the children and they went on the move again, zig-zagging across the river via crude bridges and stepping stones to avoid splashing in the water.  They stopped one more time as Snake put a couple of guards to sleep with some well-placed tranq rounds, and had to be particularly careful sneaking past a tent that housed a few men that were napping, but they managed their way through the low valley without incident. 

Finally they were at the end of the low valley, where there was a path leading out to higher ground.  Snake wiped the water away from his eyes and squinted to see the tiny lights of the extraction chopper. 

"Pequod, this is Ahab," he rasped into his mic.  "Got four prisoners heading to you--they're kids.  I'll be right behind them."

 _"This is Pequod, Roger that,"_ the pilot replied. 

He looked at the children and pointed at the approaching vehicle.  "Go."  They scrambled up the hill eagerly, sliding a little from the slick mud, and Snake had to push some of them onwards. 

From behind him, some men yelled, and Snake whipped his head back.  Flashlights were jerking around wildly as the surrounding foliage rustled. 

Miller's called through the radio, " _Boss, they found out about the prisoners escaping, they're onto you!"_

"I see them."  The other children were out of the valley now, and beyond the sight of the soldiers.  Snake crouched by some trees.  He pulled out his pistol, and laid the injured boy on the ground. 

There were more voices calling out, and the flashlights were coming closer.  Snake could make out at least seven men, but more were behind them.  A green laser flitted over them, and Quiet hummed her tune. 

_"This is Pequod, I've got all four passengers onboard.  Will stand by at LZ."_

Snake narrowed his eyes kept his gun trained on the guards.  They looked angry and thirsty to dish out punishment, some sloshing through the river while others hacked away at the greenery with machetes. 

He waited patiently, until the men in front were only a few feet away from him.  Then he gave the order. 

"Fire at will."

A hum, and a truncated shout could be heard as a dark ribbon of blood flew out of a soldier's head in the rear of the search party.  More yelling, and everyone turned around to see what happened, giving Snake the perfect opportunity to pop out of cover and hit the ones nearest to him. 

 _ZWIP-ZWIP-ZWIP!_   Even as the men turned to rag dolls, the next ones in line wouldn't notice, as Snake had already snuck out from his hiding spot and unleashed a brutal combination of hits that rendered them sprawled helplessly on the ground.  One man caught a glimpse and tried to call out, but was interrupted by Snake's hand closing over his mouth and his foot sweeping in from behind to knock him off balance.  Snake drove him back onto the ground with a satisfying thud, while bringing back his other hand to deliver a powerful left hook to a dumbfounded gunner that was in the middle of readying his weapon.  The bionic arm hit the gunner's face with such force that rainwater shook off of him, and his cheek and nose contorted like dough before the he landed on the ground to join his buddy.  All the while, the confused talking and scattered sprays of gunfire were swiftly lessened as invisible sniper fire took them out.  In less than a couple of minutes, no one else was left standing. 

Snake was about to call to Quiet when he heard another helicopter closing in. 

_"Boss, an enemy gunship is heading your way!  You've got to get out of there now!"_

As if on cue, the gunship emerged from the cover of some tall trees, directed straight at Snake's direction.  The searchlight, however, was pointing up ahead, where the extraction chopper was. 

 _Shit._   Snake ran over to a mortar and quickly positioned the launcher in the gunship's direction.  After dropping a shell inside, he fired and began moving away. 

"Quiet, don't let that gunship get to the extraction chopper!" he said, pulling out his MRS-4.  He sprinted up the hill and ducked by some rocks as the mortar whistled towards its target.  The shell exploded as it hit, causing the gunship to wobble, but it had only damaged the edge of the landing skid.  Still, it was now distracted from the chopper, and the searchlight began waving around to find its attacker. 

Snake exhaled sharply, and stood up to release a burst of fire from his rifle.  The searchlight glared white in his eyes and he grunted, widening his stance as he got ready to run. 

The nose of the gunship dipped as it came closer, then there was a sprinkling of glass, followed by another.  A frown crossed Snake's features, followed by realization, as he caught sight of the blood splatter in the cockpit.  With its operators dead, the gunship flailed as though drunk, before careening off to an open plain and crashing in a fiery finish. 

Snake blinked at the inferno, the flames raging despite the ongoing rain.  "Nicely done," he said, and a pleased hum was made in reply. 

After retrieving the boy from the valley and placing him onto the chopper, he hopped in and sat on the edge, looking outward. 

 _"All right, objective complete,"_ Miller announced.  _"Come on back to base."_

The chopper lifted into the air.  "Gaining altitude," Pequod said.

A whoosh of wind, and Quiet's form became visible again as she leapt an impossible height from the ground onto the chopper's skid.  She, like the rest of them, was soaked from the rain.  The boys all made shocked gasps, and pointed at the woman, whose face instantly went from calm to confused panic.  She looked at Snake, demanding an explanation. 

His lips thinned, and he nodded back towards the group.  "Turns out our Mbele rebels were a lot younger than we thought," he shrugged.  His eyes couldn't help but run over her as he spoke; her skin was glistening with moisture, and water dripped off of her tantalizingly.  There was something erotic about the way her wet hair was plastered to her face, and Snake had to look away and gesture towards the inside.  "Come on." 

Quiet obeyed and entered the chopper, taking a seat near the copilot's chair.  The children stared at her and huddled closer together to talk among themselves.  Snake imagined Quiet might be the first Caucasian woman the boys had ever seen in the flesh, and no doubt her attire and the way she had shown up out of nothingness had them even more fascinated.  For her part, Quiet didn't pay them much attention, inspecting her rifle before setting it down, but she was clearly displeased about something.  When she caught his gaze, she scowled back, and fished something out of one of her belt pouches and tossed it at him.  He caught it with his prosthetic hand, and opened the little bag to see it filled with diamonds.  He closed the drawstring and tucked the bag into his pocket, but by the time he looked at Quiet again, she was looking out the window and her arms were folded, clearly in no mood to communicate. 

Snake wasn't sure what to make of Quiet's attitude.  She had seemed enthusiastic at the beginning of the mission and throughout from what he had heard in her humming, but now she was cold and distant.  Did she hate children?  Possibly, but it wasn't as though she was expected to take of these ones, and for their part, they were behaving themselves. 

He decided to give up thinking about it for now.  The mission was completed, and working with Quiet had otherwise been successful.  He closed the door of the chopper and pulled out a medical kit to tend to the injured boy. 

****

When they arrived at Mother Base it was still dark.  Snake had cleaned the boy's injury as best as he could and wrapped it with a clean bandage.  The children had been sleeping, but they were awake again to marvel at the sight of the Diamond Dogs' home.  Quiet faded out of vision again before she could be spotted. 

Miller and some armed guards greeted them upon landing.  Behind him, Snake could hear a subtle rush of wind as Quiet snuck away back to her cell. 

The children's eyes went wide and they stiffened as they stepped onto the platform.  One, who was more curious than the rest, accidentally bumped into Miller and they both fell onto the ground.  The boy scrambled to his feet and stepped back, while a Diamond Dog soldier helped Miller up. 

"What's your thinking, Boss?" the XO asked Snake. 

The children stayed close to Snake, wary of the air of hostility Miller had around him.  Children could be far more observant than people often gave them credit for, Snake knew, and these ones had been embedded with some lethal lessons early on, making them extra sensitive to threats.  To speak of them condescendingly would not be a smart move, especially since they understood English. 

"I'm thinking that he's tougher than he looks," Snake said, indicating the boy that had bumped Miller.  "A little training, he'll make himself useful." 

"Never liked kids," Miller snorted.  "Especially ones with guns."  He lightly smacked his crutch against the boy's arm, and on instinct the Mbele soldier snatched Snake's MRS-4 and held it up at Miller. 

Snake wasn't worried at all--he had seen the boy make his move, and he could just as easily take the weapon back before the little thief would have a chance to fire.  Plus there was the fact that the children were all exhausted, dehydrated and famished, and currently more imbued with fear than bloodlust. 

Of course, he didn't want to bruise the kid's ego and give him an excuse to want to prove everyone otherwise.  "See, kid's a natural."

"No... he's no natural."  Miller grabbed the rifle away (as Snake predicted, the boy didn't offer much resistance), removed the magazine and ejected the round before holding it out to Snake.  "Far from it." 

A medical team had moved in to lift the injured boy out of the chopper and onto a gurney.  The children immediately lost interest in Miller and trotted off to follow their friend. 

Snake and Miller continued to watch the children while they spoke.  "You probably noticed on the way in, we've expanded housing," the XO explained.  "The kids'll have their own quarters, separate from ours.  Won't be counted as staff." 

"So what, we're running a daycare now?" Snake asked, amused. 

"You're the one that brought them here.  They'll learn how to read and write, do basic jobs."

The notion struck Snake sharply.  "A chance at a real life," he said wistfully.  "Just not from behind a gun." 

"Being behind a gun's what we do, Boss.  There's no room for angels in our heaven." 

Miller limped away, leaving Snake alone.  The possibility of a normal, non-violent life for the children had not occurred to him beforehand, and he resented what that said about himself. 


	6. Father

Word of the children spread fast on Mother Base.  New staff came in all the time, and civilians and refugees made the occasional appearance as well, but children--child soldiers, at that?  Soon, everyone knew about them.

Rumours began circulating that Big Boss had singlehandedly rescued the boys from a base swarming with enemies, even taking down a gunship by himself without getting a single scratch.  Intel staff caught snippets of radio communication between Rogue Coyote soldiers about a savage "white demon" that crushed men like dead leaves, and how some units were starting to request better equipment and weapons from their commanders.  Combat units out on deployment heard civilians tell stories about the legendary one-eyed man that moved and killed as stealthily and quickly as a snake, while the more superstitious ones claimed he was a god of battle that commanded a monstrous wolf to kill his enemies. 

The Diamond Dogs were noticeably livened up by the growing status of their Boss, and it also had them discussing the true nature of their organization.  In several respects, Mother Base had the facilities of a five-star hotel, while simultaneously boasting technology that went far beyond what much of the rest of the world knew existed.  The people were not bound by hypocritical politicians and endless bureaucracy, or ignored or misinterpreted by a self-centered media network.  Calling themselves just another private military company didn't seem to do them justice, and that realization filled them with pride and purpose. 

They were soldiers unrestrained by government... without borders.  Their home was a paradise unlike the ones described in religious texts, available to only a special few, chosen by a legendary warrior. 

Outer Heaven.  The dust was slowly being wiped off the name, returning to life once more. 

****

It was a grey afternoon when Miller, Ocelot and Snake were walking on the base development platform. 

"The kids doing all right?" Snake asked, taking a bite out of an apple.  He had just returned from another mission in Africa, and now finally had the chance to have a snack. 

"Considering their background, yeah," Miller nodded.  "They don't fully trust us yet, but they're warming up.  Proper food, medicine, hygiene and accommodations will make a huge difference.  The first night they saw their new room, they had spent almost an hour just touching and staring at the beds, like they weren't sure they were real.  When the guard came by to check on them a half hour later, they were sleeping on the floors or in the corners.  The third day, they used the pillows, on the fifth, they lay on the mattresses.  Yesterday, they were jumping around on top of the beds... like regular kids."

It took Snake a moment to conjure that image.  "That's good," he said gently.  His teeth tore off another piece of the apple and chewed.

There was a beat before Miller continued.  "And that injured kid's out of bed now--we used maggot therapy like you suggested, worked like a charm.  He's on crutches but he'll recover quickly.  I've gathered some people from among the civilian rescues that can be caretakers and teachers for the kids.  Having non-combatants around should help ease the kids into an existence outside of wielding guns.  On top of that, the civs get to earn their keep by doing work." 

"They're not worried about being near child soldiers?" Snake asked.

"Those people have been near a lot worse.  And they know the kids have seen Hell, too.  Either way, not all of them are up for being soldiers."    

They stopped walking to pause by the edge of the platform.  Snake finished the last of the apple and tossed the skinny core into the shimmering sea. 

Ocelot leaned against the yellow railing.  "You know, it's funny--since those kids have shown up, morale has risen.  I think they remind the men of their humanity--of what they need to work to prevent from happening in this world." 

"Children shouldn't have to carry the burden of adults' mistakes," Snake said in a low voice, "or be tools for wars that they don't know anything about."  He inhaled a slow, deep breath, smelling the salty air.  "I've seen child soldiers in other locations we have missions--if I see the chance, I'll be bringing them back here."

"Our numbers are growing all the time, Boss.  Lot of extra mouths to feed." 

Snake knew Ocelot was only being pragmatic.  "We'll make it work.  If that means I have to dirty my hands more, then that's what I'll do."

"It won't have to be just you, Boss," Miller said.  "Our combat unit's ready at any time for more jobs.  Keep 'em busy--that's how they want it."

"That's fine.  Just remember to leave the hardest stuff to me."

With the matter closed, Miller left to tend to base business.  Snake was aware that Ocelot was looking at him, but he waited until Miller was out of earshot to finally respond. 

"What?"

Ocelot held out his hands in a shrug.  "Just waiting for you to talk about it.  Your first mission with Quiet, I mean."

Snake huffed and turned to face the ocean.  "In terms of skill, no one could complain.  If it weren't for her, those kids might've never made it back here.  Even while she was covering me in the valley, she knew to let me handle the men that were closer while she took care of the ones in the back.  All of that after she'd already taken out her target undetected, and brought back a small fortune's worth in diamonds."

"Sounds like you two might be a natural team." 

That Ocelot didn't have a smug look on his face somehow annoyed Snake more.  "It was one mission." 

"So you wouldn't take her with you again?  On paper it sounds like she passed with flying colours."

"I'm not sure she wants to go again." 

Ocelot looked straight at Snake, surprised.  "What makes you say that?" he asked with a tone that was unconvinced. 

Snake averted his gaze and gripped the railing with his prosthetic hand, the metal grinding discreetly.  "When the mission was completed and we were heading back, she was... unhappy."  He was reluctant to elaborate, but knew from Ocelot's maintained stare that he would not be let off the hook.  "When she saw the kids, it was like she resented me for bringing them."

Ocelot remained still for a few seconds before crossing his arms.  "You're considering not taking her with you because you don't want her to be mad at you?"  The amusement was just barely kept out of his voice, but plain on his face. 

"It's not that," Snake replied, a little too quickly.  "I'm just... not sure what she's thinking."  Even as he said the words, he knew it was a flimsy reason, but couldn't discern why he'd given it in the first place.

"Even with a non-stop motor-mouth, you couldn't know all of what someone's thinking.  Just because you talk a lot, doesn't make you a good communicator."

"Trust me, I'm aware," Snake muttered.  He chose to shift the subject a little.  "I noticed Miller seemed especially on edge around you today--I'm assuming he knows about Quiet?"

"He knows," Ocelot nodded, "and there's nothing he can do about it.  But he'll come around in time, provided you give her the chance to prove herself."  He looked apologetic.  "Not trying to pass the buck here, Boss, but you know that any decision ultimately rests with you." 

Snake gave a look of understanding--he knew that Ocelot would not intentionally trouble him.  "I got it."  He pulled away from the railing and started to walk away.  "I need to get going for now."

"Another mission?"

"No, to R&D--something about needing me to record some voice samples for the new decoys they're making."  He paused, grimacing.  "To tell you the truth, they creep me out a bit."

Ocelot chuckled.  "Well, maybe we could find another use for them.  Sell them at toy stores as a version of those clown punching bags and call them, oh, I don't know--Snake Beaters."

Snake knew Ocelot was joking, but he wasn't.  "Don't you fucking dare."

****

Quiet smoothed some dust off of her rifle once the activity in the area had ceased.  She and Snake had just cleared out a distant outpost south of Spugmay keep in Northern Kabul in order to secure a skilled pair of medical specialists.  It should have been a quick in-and-out mission, but then a heavy infantry team that happened to come by had complicated matters--just a little.  Now the Boss was attaching a fulton balloon to a truck containing the passed out specialists, along with two bound and equally unconscious infantrymen.  Quiet, from her high perch, noticed that one of the men had drool trailing out of his open mouth. 

Since the first sortie to Africa, Quiet and the Boss had gone on a number of missions together, though she knew he had gone on just as many without her.  She had quickly adapted to working with a partner, as alien as it had felt at first, making the layout of an area as clear as possible to the Boss before he would arrive to do the close-range work.  It was somewhat like a game, where she would try to make it to the spot he pointed out and mark all the enemies and points of interest as quickly as possible, and he would then deal with each enemy one way or another.  Most of the time the Boss would find the little treasures of diamonds, weapons, or resources, but when he missed something especially valuable, she would be sure to have it with her when they left on the extraction chopper, giving it to him with the same look teachers gave to a promising student that should have known better. 

The Boss kept surprising Quiet every time they were in the field together.  He not only commanded impressive physical strength (she couldn't think of many men that were able to sprint at a decent speed while carrying full gear and another person on their shoulders) and mental sharpness (how many times had he gotten the drop on someone as if they were moving in slow motion?), but he demonstrated a creativity in warfare that ranged from impressive to ludicrous.  In one instance in Africa, he had slipped spoiled ingredients into a camp's mess hall to gain easy access to a prisoner while the poor soldiers were doubled over clutching their stomachs and lining up to use the outhouses.  Another time, when a patrolling guard was about to discover the Boss' presence, the legendary soldier had responded quickly by assembling a cardboard box he had packed in with his gear and sledding down the hill while inside it to knock the enemy into a tree.  When Quiet had seen it happen, she froze in place out of disbelief, before an abbreviated laugh had escaped from her mouth, in spite of herself. 

He still never tried to needle a verbal response out of her, but he did talk to her about mission details, and she would always answer with a hum.  Sometimes she went with the tune of one of the songs she'd heard while in her cell, but she was increasingly choosing a specific one of her own creation. 

Prior to her immolation, Quiet had never been a particularly artistic type.  With the absence of her words, however, she paid more attention to music than ever before, and before she knew it, had been cobbling together an original song herself.  The serendipitous melody had been permanently etched itself into her brain, and it had become her default vocalization when she was out in the vast emptiness, alone.  Now, she would hum it for the Boss.  She still hadn't tried to properly compose the sounds or write lyrics (she couldn't bear the possibility of leaving written evidence of something so embarrassing), but there definitely was the desire to finish this personal opus, as stupid as it was.  

Quiet cursed her mind for stubbornly refusing to abandon the idea.  As long as she lived, she could never sing. 

She sped down to the ground to stand beside the Boss, who was watching the fulton balloon lift up a BTR-60 PA into the sky.  Just another item on the list of things she would've thought impossible before she'd met him. 

He was about to say something to her when a radio call came through.  Miller's voice was in both of their ears, but Quiet was the only one that bristled from hearing it. 

_"Boss, our intel team just picked up traces of a man near your area.  It looks like he might be a survivor from the attack on Mother Base nine years ago."_

Quiet saw the Boss's eyes widen, giving her a better look at their clear, blue colour.  "We're on it," he said immediately, checking his iDroid for the estimated location. 

It was a serious matter, that much she could tell--normally he would at least tell her more about what they were doing, or, if they had been active for a while, ask if she wanted to take a break (to which her answer was always no).  He indicated a spot for her to scout ahead, and she had barely made a nod before he was already sprinting off in the direction of their target. 

The area was riddled with craggy rocks and twisting valleys which provided several hiding spots--not exactly the ideal place for sniping from above.  Nevertheless, Quiet stationed herself on a jutting peak and scanned for signs of the wandering soldier.  Through her scope, she saw the Boss making his way through the main gorge, his tranq pistol at the ready. 

She was starting to worry--they had already been out in the Afghan desert for the entire day, and unlike herself, the Boss was fully clothed in his fatigues and gear.  Even she was getting a little wilted under the scorching sun, and could feel her skin tightening from thirst. 

Movement caught her eye, and she zeroed in on it.  Sure enough, it was a man, dressed in a worn soldier's uniform that included a black balaclava.  He was staggering like a broken marionette, his arms flailing by his sides, and he bumped against the valley walls a few times.  The man was clearly delirious as a result of wandering through the wilderness and being without food or water, but he still kept on moving, driven by some unknown purpose. 

The Boss had noticed, and had lowered his pistol slightly while he began to walk towards the other man.  He called out to him.  The soldier stiffened from the sound of the voice and pivoted, nearly falling over from rolling his ankle.  The Boss swiftly approached in an attempt to help him, and then a muffled cry burst from the soldier's mouth as he yanked a knife out of his belt and swung the blade wildly. 

Quiet's finger rushed to the trigger as she flashed the laser sight on the balaclava-covered head.  The Boss, having sidestepped the attack, noticed the green dot with just enough time to yell "No!" and shoved the man onto the ground.  A fraction of a second later, a sizeable chunk of the rock wall shattered away. 

Quiet stood up while pulling on the rifle bolt to reload, her eyes frantic.  She could see the Boss kneeling on the ground by the soldier.  Neither of them were hurt.  The earth beneath her trembled as she dashed to the valley, and a tall cloud of dust plumed around her as she stopped in front of the two. 

The soldier was still trying to move, but was it lasted for only a few seconds before he gave up and his arms dropped to his sides.  The Boss had pulled the man's balaclava off, revealing a mangled mess of overgrown hair and a beard.  His skin was sickly pale and he had dark circles under his sunken eyes.  His lips were chapped and covered with painful-looking sores.  He kept making incoherent, shallow moans, as though actual words were a herculean challenge, until the Boss took out his canteen and poured the water into his mouth. 

Quiet watched solemnly as the soldier drank.  His lips trembled at first to the gentle trickle, then his body began to register what was happening, and he tried to grab at the canteen himself, but was still too weak, so the Boss kept holding it and tipped the container further to let the man drink more.  Quiet knew the Boss must have been incredibly thirsty himself--he was panting, and big sweat stains were apparent through his camo uniform--but he did not once stop to take a drink for himself, letting the soldier drain the entire canteen to the last drop. 

The Boss turned to his iDroid to call in an extraction chopper.  Once the pick-up was confirmed by Pequod, the soldier had regained enough of his senses to look at his saviour.  He blinked several times and squinted, not trusting his eyes. 

"B-Boss?" he croaked, "is that you...?" 

The Boss nodded, and answered gently.  "Yes, soldier, it's me.  Welcome home."

The man's mouth warped into a grin, then scrunched up as he cried out in elation.  He dragged his hand to his head painfully and slowly, but the salute he made was firm with determination. 

"Nine years... Nine years I've been waiting for this day..." he trailed off, and his hand flopped onto his chest, exhaustion taking over.  His face was peaceful, and Quiet could tell he would have had tears streaming from his eyes if his body could have spared the fluid.

When the chopper arrived and they all boarded, the first thing the Boss had done was ask Pequod for his canteen.  To Quiet's surprise, though, instead of drinking it for himself, the Boss then removed his scarf, wet it with water and wiped the soldier's face and neck.  When he pulled the scarf away, it was filthy with grime, sweat, blood and oil, but he merely poured more water on it, squeezed out the dirty liquid, and placed the wet, cool compress onto the man's forehead before opening the medical kit to get an IV drip. 

Quiet clenched her teeth, feeling useless and hating it.  She had no training with field medicine whatsoever, but she could also see that an offer to help was meaningless, as the Boss quickly set up all the necessary equipment and had carefully inserted the needle into the soldier's arm with practiced ease. 

Once he was finished, he was about to sit back when he noticed something sticking out of the soldier's breast pocket.  He pulled it out, a slightly faded image with bent corners--a photograph.  Quiet could see it was of Miller, playing a guitar, and a younger girl, with blonde hair and blue eyes.  She wondered who she was, but it was evident from the serious expression on the Boss's face that this was not a topic he was willing to go into.  He winced as though in pain, touching his hand to the side of his head, before returning the picture to the soldier's pocket.  He slowly sat back into his seat and started looking through data on his iDroid. 

Quiet chewed her lip.  She tried to distract herself by looking out the window, at Pequod, at the chopper's control panel, but none of those efforts lasted for more than a few minutes.  The rescued soldier lay on the floor of the cabin, his head cushioned by a jacket.  He already looked better than the shell of a man he had been when they'd first found him.  Against his side was Pequod's canteen, still half-full of water.  Quiet glanced up at the Boss--he was reviewing the results from the combat unit's missions, and planning for future deployments. 

Finally, the last thread of her patience severed, and she leapt up from her seat and picked up the canteen.  She held onto the metal ceiling rail with support and bent forward to thrust her face right in front of his.  He stopped moving his thumb over the iDroid controls and slowly looked up, his gaze pausing at her breasts before shooting to her eyes. 

The Boss may have been almost two decades older than Quiet, but he was still handsome.  Perhaps not to some, who would think his multitude of scars, lack of an eye, and the impossible-to-ignore shrapnel-horn scary and even monstrous.  But as a fellow soldier, she could appreciate these features as profoundly human, worn only by those that had experienced the ugliest, most unforgiving aspects of the world and managed to come through them alive.  There was a primal allure to how "rough" his appearance was, and the sweat, dirt and blood that he was so often covered with implied a raw masculinity that was sharply enticing. 

Quiet held up the canteen and pushed it into the Boss's chest, not letting go until he took hold of it himself.  She nodded at it expectantly and he took the hint, unscrewing the cap and taking a drink.  She stayed in place, vaguely aware of her breasts swaying from the motion of the chopper, watching his Adam's apple bob as he gulped down the water. 

When he'd had enough, he gave a revived sigh, as if he'd been reminded of how good water could taste.  "Thanks," he said, holding out the canteen to her.  There was still a little bit left.

Her face was neutral, but she took the container and backed up.  The Boss was picking up his iDroid again to return to work.  Quiet pursed her lips, and leaned over to tap Pequod on the shoulder and showed him his canteen, the question obvious. 

"Go ahead, have the rest," he smiled, "you guys earned it."

She gave him a thankful look and sat back down.  Sparing only a second to glance at the Boss, she tilted her head back and let the canteen's contents spill out onto her body.  The water was lukewarm, but her lips parted and eyes closed in pleasure as her thirst was finally sated.  Her body began to shiver as she "drank," sending some droplets flying throughout the cabin.  When she could move again, she lay back against the cabin wall, relaxed, and opened her eyes to see Pequod struggling not to gape at her.  Her eyes went to the Boss, who evaded her gaze, cleared his throat and refocused his attention on his iDroid. 

At Mother Base, Miller and a team of medics were waiting .  With reverence they removed the soldier from the chopper and placed him onto a gurney, wheeling him away to the medical platform.  Quiet stayed near the chopper, giving the Boss and Miller some space. 

"We'll make sure he gets nothing but the best care," Miller promised.  "Why not get some rest in the meantime, Boss?  You could use a shower."

"Later," the Boss replied, opening a pouch on his belt.  He dug in and held in his hand to show Miller: a small pack of crayons and a hackey sack.  "I found these while I was out today.  Figured the kids could use them." 

Miller softened ever so slightly, and he nodded.  "They're a much better fit than guns and knives.  Nice thinking, Boss."

Behind them, unnoticed, black smoke swirled in the air, and a spot previously occupied near the chopper was now vacant. 

****

Conflicted didn't begin to describe how Quiet felt.  She stood under the cold rain of her cell's shower, wishing the sound of the rushing water would calm her mind. 

When Quiet had fallen out of that hospital window in Cyprus, the glass had sliced her skin and made the fire burn into her body faster.  She had struck multiple tree branches on her way down, fracturing bones and tearing ligaments, until landing on top of a wrought iron fence, the spikes skewering her abdomen.  Amidst the indescribable agony ravaging her, she still had enough senses to notice the weight of her body pulling her down, sluggishly sliding through the black bars which became stained red.  And still the fire had kept eating her up. 

Skull Face had later told her that while the parasites had repaired much of her body and could now substitute for the digestive organs she had lost from her injuries, they could not do the same for her reproductive organs.  Skull Face recounted the details of how her uterus had been punctured by one of the fence spikes as casually as if he were discussing the weather, going on to say that, yes, this meant she would never be able to carry a child to term. 

Quiet's conscious mind came back to the present, and she shut off the shower, wiping water out of her eyes. 

Having children was never a consideration for her--she had chosen to focus on her career as a soldier, and since she was a teenager, she believed motherhood to only be a burden.  Presently, she had not changed her mind, but having the choice so violently made for her had left behind a bitter ache that had not come up in a long time--until she'd first seen those child soldiers in the chopper. 

The more she learned about Mother Base and the Diamond Dogs, the more dread she felt building up inside her, like a filling septic tank.  She had originally expected to only be taking out the Boss, his partners, and a band of rogue soldiers, but was now faced with a huge, multicultural family that included civilians and children.  Nothing else like it existed in the world. 

The memory of seeing the soldier's joy upon finding the Boss nagged at her.  If she killed the Boss, she would not simply be killing a man, but killing a father.  She would be orphaning a nation. 

Was she prepared to take on such collateral damage?  Was her revenge worth that much? 

She scrambled to find an answer, but came up empty. 

 


	7. Human Resources

"I'm sorry, Commander?"

The Diamond Dog soldier known as Flaming Buffalo was a rising star within the combat unit.  Despite being a woman, she had shown a remarkable knack for warfare, and took and dished out punishment better than most of the men around her.  Her CQC and high stamina made her a beast in the field, contrasting greatly against her smaller stature, which she used fully to her advantage in throwing her opponents off-guard.  Ocelot knew their organization was fortunate to have her on their side.  Buffalo had been sparring with other members of the combat unit when Ocelot had arrived, with DD in tow. 

"I was asking, Buffalo, what your opinion might be on the sniper, Quiet." 

Buffalo gave a look to her sparring opponent, and he left to find another partner.  She took a moment to catch her breath, panting.  She was wearing the standard training outfit of track pants and fitted tank top, and was sweating through both of them.  Her build was lean, muscular, and exuded strength, and her face was stern and proud, with more than a touch of cockiness. 

"Frankly speaking, sir, she and I aren't exactly girlfriends.  Wouldn't you know more about her?"

Ocelot smirked.  Buffalo had a smart mouth that had earned her more than a few charges of insubordination back in her days with the South African Defense Force.  Many men preferred their women to be subservient and agreeable, but Ocelot appreciated her insistence of speaking her mind, since it saved him the trouble of having to wade through the bullshit of half-truths and omission that was all-too common with most. 

"I do, but I'm asking you what _you_ think of her.  Don't be getting shy on me, now." 

DD's head darted between his trainer and his fellow soldier, intrigued by this conversation.

Buffalo narrowed her eyes a little, as if wary of a trap.  She tossed a towel over her neck to wipe the sweat off of her.  "From what I can tell, she's an amazing shot--couldn't put anyone better in a watch tower with a rifle.  I don't see any problems." 

Ocelot crossed his arms, and his eyebrow went up theatrically.  "You don't suspect her of trying to make a move against us?"

"I have no idea what she was planning by coming here, but she's been on several missions with the Boss, and they've come back safe every time.  Her 'probation period' has been going on for a lot longer than any of the other new recruits, I'd like to point out." 

"None of the other recruits have been XOF soldiers."

"Then it should count for even more that the Boss trusts her."

A pleased grin spread across Ocelot's face.  "Well said.  And what about the fact that she doesn't talk?  Thoughts on that?" 

Buffalo turned her face away from Ocelot as her lips curved up in a bitter smile, and she snorted.  "There are plenty of reasons a soldier doesn't want to talk.  Even more for a woman to not want to talk.  If you say what you mean, you're a stupid bitch that doesn't know her place.  If you say nothing, you're a stuck-up cunt that can't take a 'compliment.'  Men will always find an excuse to hurt you--maybe Quiet's just decided that saying nothing's the lesser of two evils."

Ocelot nodded, considering this theory.  "I hadn't thought of that," he admitted.  DD whined curiously by his side. 

"Of course you haven't," Buffalo answered with a hard look.  Then she realized that she may have gone too far.  "I'm sorry, sir, that was out of line, even for me."

The cat merely waved her apology aside.  "Don't worry about it.  The reason I'm asking is, I'm wondering if you and the combat unit could use Quiet on your deployments.  Whenever she's not with the Boss, that is."

Buffalo's look of surprise quickly eased into eagerness.  "Absolutely, sir.  I'd never turn down good talent." 

"What about the others?"

A light shrug.  "Some might complain at first, but once they see what she can do, they'll shut up.  The Boss has scheduled me on a heavy transport ambush tomorrow in Pakistan.  Intel says it might be a little hairy."

"Save a seat on your ride tomorrow, then--you'll be having some company to help out."

"Yes, sir--thank you, Commander!"  Buffalo gave a firm salute, and was about to turn to leave when she remembered something.  "Sir, if I may..."

Ocelot gestured with his hands, "You may."

Buffalo took a slow breath to collect her thought.  "I'd like for us to provide training to the civilian women on our base."

" _Training?_   To civilian women?"

"And some of the younger girls.  Just basic self-defense at first--a number of them have approached me and other female staff members about it.  They appreciate us taking them away from the warzones they were in before, but they'd still prefer to not be helpless if and when they ever run into trouble again."

"Have any of them been harassed by Mother Base staff?"

 "As far as I know, no, but they'd rather not wait for it to happen before learning, and neither do I.  I've already got Roaring Hornet and Creeping Buzzard on board with me, and I know we can find more volunteer instructors."

Ocelot went through his memory.  Roaring Hornet was another member of the combat unit, originally of Angolan descent, though born and raised in Sri Lanka.  She and her brother had been a part of the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam in response to the stifling and uncaring actions of the Sinhala-focused Sri Lankan government, but she had left the organization following her brother's death by a suicide bombing.  Creeping Buzzard was a shrewd Canadian political activist who had joined with the goal of assisting the victims of war-torn regions.  She would always tell soldiers out on deployment to bring back anything they found on the field that could be used or traded, no matter how useless it may have seemed.  Once, when a gunner had sarcastically brought back a shipping container filled with empty plastic barrels, her response had been to turn them into rainwater collectors and gave them to a humanitarian aid group in return for information about a gold mine that was said to be using child labour.  Buffalo and her team had then later infiltrated the operation and eliminated the men in charge, freed the children, and taken the already processed gold back to Mother Base, making for an extremely successful, profitable day.

"We're still a PMC, not a charity," Ocelot said.  "You understand that this would have to be done on your own time."

"Of course." 

"All right, then.  Come up with a schedule that works for you and the others, and send me the details for an instructional program once you have it.  Dismissed."

Buffalo saluted, and trotted off to rejoin the sparring group.  Ocelot watched her and the other combat personnel practice their moves for a while, until a pathetic whining came from below. 

He looked by his legs at DD, who was looking forlornly here and there like a lost child.  The Boss and Quiet were currently away on another mission together, and the dog's boredom and loneliness were starting to eat away at him. 

Ocelot ran his hand over DD's silver-grey fur.  "Hey now, don't be sounding like that," he said.  "Is that any way for a soldier to behave?"

DD grumbled an objection, his paws shuffling over the ground.  He may have been a trained attack dog, but he was still young, and could not hide his love for his master. 

"I know, I know, he's overdue to spend some time with you, isn't he?  Don't you worry, though, he'll be back soon."

The dog licked his chops and snorted, resigned.  Ocelot sighed, and lifted DD's chin up so that his eyes were looking at the Commander's.  "Okay, how about we play hunt in the meantime, hmm?"

DD's eyes instantly lit up, and he barked a yes, his tail wagging rapidly. 

"All right, then."  To be honest, Ocelot enjoyed this game, too.  That it kept the soldiers alert and in shape was an added bonus.  He stood up and yelled out to the combat unit.  "Listen up, rabbits!  It's hunting time!  First one to get caught gets bathroom-cleaning duty for a week!"  He gave just enough time for DD to crouch down into a waiting position, the canine having completely switched modes from lonely pet to predatory wolf.  The men were spread out and waiting for the signal, wary of their pursuer.  Even though they all knew DD would never actually harm them, it didn't make him any less scary when he was charging at full speed towards them with over a hundred pounds of weight and a mouth full of sharp teeth. 

"Go!" Ocelot said, and DD took off as fast as a bullet, sending the Mother Base soldiers fleeing.  He did not envy whichever poor sap would end up being tackled by the furry cannonball. 

****

Miller was impressed by the Mother Base soldiers that had survived the attack from nine years ago.  They had already managed to retrieve three more since the Boss had discovered the first one, and there were still reports of others being spotted out in the wild.  Holding onto hope that others had lived through the destruction of Militaires Sans Frontières had been a masochistic endeavour once, but now Miller felt reinvigorated to find his brothers-in-arms and reassemble their family. 

Miller found time to visit the wanderers when he could, and today he was sitting with Raving Rhino, a construction planner and the most recently rescued soldier.  He was still confined to bed rest, but was cleaner and healthier, and starting to gain weight again. 

"How's our new medical unit treating you?" Miller asked, sitting back in his chair. 

"Couldn't ask for better," Rhino answered, as he took a sip of water, "though you could've stuck me in a closet with stale bread and that'd still be better than what I'd been having for the last few years."  His expression faltered as his mind called back bad memories. 

Miller leaned forward.  "Are you comfortable with talking about it?" he asked, though in truth he was hungry to hear his story. 

Rhino was a big man, with a broad face and strong brow that often shadowed his narrow eyes, giving him a stone statue-like appearance.  But the way he shuddered and turned his head up to the ceiling as emotion overtook him could not have had anyone doubt that he was as human as anyone else. 

"I was in Colombia when I heard about what happened," he said, his deep voice striving to keep composure.  "I wanted to go back, but by then the base had been completely destroyed, and clean-up crews were being sent out in all directions to take care of any survivors.  I made my way to Venezuela, but XOF had people waiting there, so I had to go through Brazil... probably the worst mistake I'd ever made.  The right-wing government was hunting down anyone that they thought might be a political threat, but that just made it open season for them to do whatever they wanted to whoever they wanted."  Rhino stopped to breathe, and squeezed his eyes shut.  Miller saw that Rhino's hands were tightly wrapped into fists, the dark skin turning lighter at the knuckles. 

"Those fucking death squads... The Scuderie Le Cocq... I had to hide in not one, but three mass graves on three separate occasions.  I was underneath a wife and husband, their sad eyes were staring right at me... And their blood was mixing and dripping onto me..." Rhino was trembling now, and no longer bothered to hide his tears, which streamed in glittering lines down his face.  "I finally made it onto a freighter, and got to Portgual.  From there, it was just a matter of trying to stay alive, although several times I considered giving up.  Then one day I start to hear rumours about you and the Boss being alive... And I knew I had to find you two again.  Next thing I know, I'm on a helicopter and people are telling me it's been nine years."  A breathless laugh wheezed out of Rhino, making him look oddly frail in contrast to his solid frame. 

There was fertile ground here for nurturing the lust for vengeance, but it had to be done carefully.  Miller gripped his crutch tightly, and allowed some silence to occupy the space before speaking.  "I'm sorry for what you had to go through," he said gravely, "but I'm also glad that you made it out alive, and glad that you could be here to tell me." 

He bent forward, leaning on his crutch.  "Cipher tore us apart and took away our home, but we're still here.  We, _deserve,_ to be here.  And I won't rest until both Cipher and Skull Face hear us, and the cries of all of our other comrades that were taken before their time." 

Miller then stood up, his posture ramrod straight.  When he had first starting coping with the loss of his leg and arm, he had been shaky like a toddler, and often became frustrated with himself when he fell down, turning angrier still when nurses and doctors tried to help him.  That was no longer the case--he had sworn to never again let Cipher cripple him. 

"Our enemy threatens the world still, so this new Mother Base must continue to grow.  We could certainly use more construction experts, to expand what we started.  Are you with us, soldier?"

Rhino could only stare for a second, like a child who had just been exposed to a rousing sermon.  Then Miller's conviction finally seemed to reach him, and he sat up as best as he could and roughly wiped his tears away.  When he spoke, his voice was solid and clear: "Yes, sir."

Miller felt his heart swell.  His trek to revenge had taken another step forward.

****

"The Devil's House" was living up to its nickname, Snake thought. 

The ghastly lab within the Ngumba industrial zone's run-down warehouse was the total opposite of what a medical facility should have been.  Not an inch of space was free of dust, rust, or spider-webs; flies buzzed in the air while cockroaches and other small vermin skittered over the ground, and blood was splattered everywhere.  The concrete floor was uneven and cracked, with puddles of red in some areas, while others were a darker brown, but still recent enough to be sticky.  For every step Snake took through the minefield of littered debris and clutter, he could hear his boots peeling off the surface.  The muggy environment made everything feel heavier, including the thick scent of blood.  Through the coppery stench, Snake also detected urine, feces, vomit, mold, and decomposition.  His body's instinct was to cough, but as long as he stayed in here, there would be no fresh air anytime soon.  Pushing past a plastic curtain, he was faced with crooked rows of tables, each one carrying a person.  Several were zipped up in bags, but even the ones that weren't looked like corpses already, with emaciated forms and grotesque pallor.  It was a true factory of death. 

One thing that stood out for Snake was the noise that seemed to be coming from all the patients.  It was quiet and muffled, but he could hear a variety of voices, despite there being no TVs or other personnel in sight. 

He approached one of the patients, a young man, who showed no reaction to Snake's presence but sustained a look of abject torment.  A bandage was over his throat, but it didn't look like the aftermath of a tracheotomy.  Snake removed the tape and pulled out the tube that was burrowed in the man's throat, which was a wire--connected to an earphone.  He held it closer to listen--a woman's voice, speaking in Chinese?  His eyes followed the earphones' wire, and it then dawned on him that every single one of the patients had their own cassette player hanging from their IV stand.  Not all were Chinese, though, as he could pick up bits and pieces of French from one, Spanish from another, Tagalog, Turkish, German... 

The patient coughed, a wet, bubbly sound, and Snake looked down at him again.  Using his prosthetic hand, he pulled back the surgical cloth, and wrinkled his face in disgust.  The man's chest had two massive lesions in the area and shape of his lungs, soft, twisty and pinkish-grey, looking similar to brains.  They appeared to be regularly secreting a clear, sticky fluid, which oozed all over the man's torso and stained his pants and the table he was on. 

Snake clenched his teeth and moved further into the building.  He still needed to find Shabani.  While he had expected there to be a lot of new questions arising from this mission, given that it had been the Mbele boys themselves that had tasked him with retrieving their leader, he could never have expected to see this horror film that was unfolding before him. 

In a corner, Snake found a sectioned-off ward that hosted a single boy.  He did not have milky eyes or an earphone in his throat, and his lesions were minor compared to the others, but his breathing was shallow, and his lip trembled as if he was freezing cold.  In his right hand was a necklace, which Snake picked up.  It was a lion, carved out of ivory--exactly as the Mbele boys had described. 

He pocketed the necklace and leaned closer.  "Shabani," he whispered.  "Your boys sent me." 

Shabani turned his head towards Snake.  _"Kill me,"_ he rasped out in Kikongo.  At least he was responsive, Snake thought, though he was not feeling good about the boy's odds for survival.  Never mind the fact that he had no idea what ailment Shabani was suffering from, but to hear such a young child demanding his own death kept Snake on the pessimistic side.  He pulled out his knife and easily sliced through the straps that bound Shabani down, but quickly ducked his head when he heard a door opening. 

He heard measured, almost elegant footsteps crossing the floor in the next room ahead of him.  A figure clothed in black emerged through the curtains--Skull Face. 

For a fleeting instant the XOF leader almost looked reverent as he knelt by the bedside of a patient, ignoring the blood that was leeching into the parts of his pants that touched the floor like it was of no concern. 

"I accept your disgrace, your sorrow, unto myself," Skull Face said in Hungarian.  Then he stood up, and promptly fired a shotgun round into the patient's head.  The shot bellowed through the entire building.  When the splash of blood, bone, and brain matter subsided, all that was left of the head was a gooey, red crater.  "Rest in peace," he intoned, removing his hat out of respect. 

Snake couldn't tell whether it was the shock of hearing the shotgun or the sight of Skull Face that triggered it, but Shabani suddenly began to wail and struggle.  Snake tried to calm him down, but he couldn't put his hand over his mouth without risking becoming infected if Shabani bit him. 

"Kill me, kill me!" the boy begged raggedly, his eyes rolling in the back of his head.  _"Kill me!"_   Snake was hardly surprised when Skull Face was in front of them, shotgun aimed in their direction. 

As the identity of the intruder registered, Skull Face moved his arm away.  "You!" he said, though not particularly angry nor displeased.  Shabani was still moaning, but his movements were lessening. 

Skull Face turned away as if in thought, before saying, "Burn with the rest of them," and walked out of sight.    

An image flickered into view--a child, with vibrant red hair, wearing a black straitjacket and a gas mask--and disappeared just as quickly.  Snake just barely pieced together what he had seen, and where, as the room flared brightly and a powerful mass knocked him down. 

The Man on Fire.  The one he had seen in Cyprus. 

Screaming that same inhuman, distorted sound, the walking inferno tried to strangle his prey, but Snake kicked him off, wincing from the heat that lingered near his neck.  The flames emanating from the Man on Fire hungrily raced all over the building, adding the final ingredient to complete this Hellscape. 

The monster began to lunge towards Snake again, but then froze in place, like a paused frame in a movie.  The light of his fiery body dimmed, and Snake could see past him to the table where Shabani was.  The boy was using his last strength to cry out in rage and pain, his black hair burning away from his head and his skin frying to a crisp.  And floating above, staying as still as the Man on Fire, was the red-haired boy, watching intently as the last bit of life was snuffed out of Shabani's small body.  It was hard for Snake to say if it were too soon, or not soon enough, given what the boy had been through. 

The distraction gone, the red-haired boy floated back to the Man on Fire before vanishing from sight.  Rage flashed in the man's eyes again, and the fire rose in full force as he roared and resumed his pursuit. 

 _"Get the fuck out of there!"_ Miller yelled through the radio. 

Snake didn't need to be told twice.  He bolted from the room, dodging falling ceiling beams and burning equipment to burst outside, just in time to avoid being flattened by the building's collapse.  The steel supports buckled and crashed against each other on their way to hit the ground. 

The fire had already surrounded the entire area; rain had not fallen for days, and to make matters worse, the place's original purpose as a fuel station had left the ground still contaminated with volatile chemicals, engorging the blaze.  It was evening, but the fire made everything painfully bright for Snake, and even the sky seemed tinged red from where he was. 

He made a run for the tunnel that he had used to come here, but a gargantuan, flaming projectile blew past him and slammed into the top of the entrance, causing a cave-in.  Snake whirled around to see the Man on Fire heading towards him. 

 _"Boss, I know it's risky, but I'm sending an extraction chopper closer to your location,"_ Miller said. 

Snake was hissing his breaths through his teeth--the heat was making him sweat profusely, and his eye stung from the smoke.  He knew Pequod wouldn't take long to get here, but he couldn't call the chopper in while that thing was up and active.  Bullets were wasted on him--so what then?

_If only the R &D team had made a fire hose gun._

His eyes fell on the large destroyed warehouse next to him.  Against the supporting pillars were several plastic tanks with faucets--Snake thought they had to be water containers. 

He dashed to the warehouse while firing a few shots at the Man on Fire to ensure he would be followed.  The monster's thundering cry sent tremors through the air as Snake slid down behind some crates and waited, peeking through cracks in the wood.  The dense footsteps came closer and closer, until the man was right beside a tank, and Snake leapt up and fired at it. 

The tank burst, sending water gushing onto the man and instantly generating a mass of steam and white smoke.  The shrieking sound was so terrible it could just as well have been another weapon in the Man on Fire's arsenal. 

"Pequod, get your ass down here now!" Snake barked into his mic.  He ran through the warehouse, slapped a chunk of C4 onto another tank, and took a dive into the shallow reservoir pond up ahead.  A muddy splash, and Snake got to his feet, a little cooler than before.  The water had been old and dirty, but it was better than nothing. 

By now the Man on Fire had recovered, and was marching forward again, shooting fireballs at any matter in his path.  Snake gripped the detonator in his hand; behind him, he could hear the extraction chopper coming. 

_"This is Pequod!  Arriving shortly at LZ!"_

Snake pushed the button on the detonator with all the strength his thumb held, and the second tank spewed its contents on the man.  The steam made it impossible to see him, but Snake was no longer looking, he was sprinting to the descending chopper at the top of the hill.  Without even waiting for the craft to lower further, he jumped high to grab the landing skid, and hoisted himself up onto the deck. 

"Go!  _Now!_ " he yelled at Pequod.  The wide-eyed pilot obeyed, and the chopper began to climb. 

The same dreadful roar came from the ground, forcing Snake to spin around.  He yanked the door-mounted minigun into position and squinted down the sights.  The damn thing was angrier than ever, each stomp of his boot sending ripples of fire outward. 

Snake pulled the triggers and shot away one of the metal legs of a rickety water tower.  The structure gave out and unleashed crushing waves onto the area below, completely dousing the Man on Fire and turning him black like lava that had just touched the sea.  When Snake saw the crumpled figure on the ground amidst the steam, unmoving, he gave a sigh of relief and returned the minigun to its stationary position.  They were getting farther and farther away from the site, but Snake knew it was not his imagination when he caught a glimpse of a tiny, black figure floating above the extinguished man. 

He dragged himself into the chopper and shut the doors, coughing the smoke out of his lungs.  His face was still hot, and he felt disgustingly wet inside his suit and boots from the sweat and reservoir water he had been stewing in.  He was definitely taking a shower when he got back. 

The radio crackled, _"Boss, we have an emergency.  Mother Base is under attack.  The enemy has overrun one of the platforms, and they're holding some of our staff hostage.  If we don't do something, they'll try to take off with our men.  That would mean losing some of our finest manpower!"_

_Well, shit._

_****_

The ride back to Mother Base had felt excruciatingly long, but Snake managed to keep himself calm.  According to Miller, the enemy was a PMC called Mosquito Stinger Force, known to Diamond Dogs' intel unit through competition for clients.  All of the men were wearing balaclavas, so they could not be identified, but judging by the leader's vengeful rants and demands made through the loudspeakers, Miller suspected that the man had some personal vendetta against the Diamond Dogs. 

"What about Huey?" Snake asked.  The massive Battle Gear prototype was still in the early stages of construction, but if Stinger Force managed to get ahold of the weapon and Emmerich, things would become a hell of a lot uglier. 

 _"That hangar was made to be more secure than Fort Knox,"_ Ocelot said.  _"So far they haven't discovered what's inside, and there's been no indication of them trying to break in.  For what it's worth, Emmerich and his new toy are safe--for now."_

Dawn was near, and a heavy fog was blanketing the base.  Visibility was poor, but it would still be impossible to approach unnoticed in the chopper. 

"Pequod, I'm going to need you to go in low and drop me at the third deck's helipad," Snake said while he checked his weapons.  "The second I'm off, get away from there as quickly as possible."

"Copy that, Boss," Pequod called back, "I'll do my best to not let them scratch the paint job." 

The corner of Snake's mouth curled in a smile, and he got up to pull open the door.  Mother Base looked fine from the outside, but he knew that everyone on all of the platforms must be scared and anxious right now.  From what Miller had said, the hostages on the R&D platform were among their best and most skilled specialists--losing them was unacceptable. 

The instant the helipad came underneath them, Snake jumped down, landing and immediately transitioning to skulking up the stairs.  He heard gunfire as the Stinger Force men shot at the rapidly fleeing chopper, though thankfully Pequod's piloting skills meant the aircraft managed to fly out of range without taking any damage. 

Stinger Force was on the alert, but they were not as familiar with the base as Snake was, and they were nervous.  There were also not that many of them on this strut--Snake imagined they were spread quite thin over the R&D platforms, with the majority huddling on the main strut.  He crawled underneath a series of pipes to stay out of sight, and took a scan of the area with his night vision goggles.  Here and there were yellow silhouettes patrolling, but then his eye caught a large mass of bodies clustered together on the ground.  He removed the goggles and switched to binoculars, confirming the location of the Mother Base hostages.  

A few innocuous noises from behind corners was all it took to lure a handful of soldiers, jumpy like rabbits, to come in closer and be knocked out cold.  For others, Snake got a bit more creative, stalking targets from on top of the refining equipment and then pouncing from above like a bird of prey.  With the brief contact he had with some of the soldiers, he determined that they had some degree of training in CQC, albeit a watered-down version at that.  He was becoming increasingly concerned about the identity of Mosquito Stinger Force, and what connection the leader had to himself. 

Once all of the men were out of the way, Snake went to the hostages and pulled out his knife to cut their bonds.  The arrival of the Diamond Dogs' leader instantly raised the staff's spirits.

"Boss!  Thank God you're here!" exclaimed Midnight Wasp, an electrical engineer. 

"Are there more hostages on the other struts?" Snake asked while slicing through another person's ropes. 

A chemist named Copper Tiger rose to his knees, rubbing his sore wrists.  "The only other ones are all on the main strut, sir.  So is the enemy leader."

Snake nodded.  "Okay.  I'll go to the main strut and stop Stinger Force myself.  Meanwhile--"  He stopped speaking further when he freed the last hostage--it was radar specialist Glaring Dragonfly.  His face was pale and sweaty, and he was fighting to stay awake; a bullet wound was just below his left collarbone and blood had soaked into most of his shirt. 

"One of them shot him just to make an example," someone said regretfully.  "They wouldn't let us help him." 

Snake looked at the staff, picking out a researcher.  "Give me your lab coat," he demanded in a tone that would not tolerate no as an answer.  The researcher handed over his coat, and Snake grabbed a sleeve and easily tore it off, binding it tightly around the wound before knotting it.  Dragonfly reacted with a mere moan. 

 _Not good._   He was bleeding out fast, and needed medical attention. 

Snake faced Wasp.  "We need to get this guy over to the medical platform now.  I'm going to need your help.  If I fulton extract him with this serious of an injury, his odds of surviving drop significantly, but if he stays here, he _will_ die."

Wasp looked anxious.  "What do we do, then?"

"We'll do a tandem extraction.  I'll attach the fulton to you, and you'll be hanging on to him; that way he won't get the full brunt of the impact.  Don't worry--these things can fly up while carrying tanks and shipping containers."

They quickly fashioned a harness using the remains of the lab coat, and tied Wasp to Dragonfly as the former held onto the latter's sagging body.  Snake prepared a fulton pack and looked at Wasp, who was breathing fast. 

"I'll get him there safe, Boss, I promise."  Wasp swallowed nervously, but Snake heard the resolution in his words. 

"I'm counting on you," he said with sincerity.  He snapped the fulton pack onto Wasp's back, and the tandem pair floated above ground as the balloon inflated, before shooting upwards like a rocket.  Snake noted with relief that Wasp had managed to keep himself from screaming.  Too many of them did.

He spoke to the rest of the staff.  "All of the enemy soldiers on this strut are now unconscious and tied up.  I want you to arm yourselves with their weapons, gather them here and keep an eye on them."

Everyone agreed and scattered in pairs to retrieve the soldiers.  "Go get our home back, Boss," Tiger said. 

Snake nodded, then turned and ran towards the main strut.  By running on the lower level of the bridge, he managed to avoid being spotted.  There was a beeping sound and he spared a peek at his prosthetic arm that wore his watch--the sun would be rising soon. 

Miller's voice came through in the radio.  _"Boss, the medical team managed to get the two staff members safe and sound.  The injured one's being prepped for surgery now."_   Things were looking up.  Snake ran faster. 

Once he was on the main strut, he slowed as shouting could be heard.  Several men were scouring all decks of the platform.  He patiently studied the movements of the soldiers, waiting for the right opportunity.  As soon as the way before him was clear, he bolted towards the main building, latched onto a ventilation pipe, and began the climb upwards.  When the pipe ended by curving into the wall, he grabbed the steel railing of a walkway and shimmied sideways until a ladder was accessible, and he then used that; this rail lead to that crossbeam, that duct went around the corner to that drain pipe, and so on.  In some spots he was delayed briefly by a passing guard, but they were minor obstacles at best.  Snake knew the best blind spots to hide in, and where the shadows offered him protection at which times.  He would be damned if some intruders were able to use his own home against him. 

By the time he reached the top level, the first slivers of the sun's rays were beginning to peek over the horizon.  Peering from behind a transformer box, Snake could see the other hostages grouped together on the floor of the open area below.  Thankfully, none of them appeared to have any serious injuries.  To Snake's left, a man was standing by the door leading to a guard station, impatiently looking to and fro while clutching at his rifle.  Judging from the fact that he was staying in one spot, Snake figured him to be the leader of Stinger Force.

"Come on, where are you?" the man muttered irately through his balaclava.  "What are you waiting for?  I know you're here!"  He sucked in air through his teeth, exhaling harshly.  His voice rose to match his fretful state of mind as he barked into his microphone, "Do you hear me, Big Boss!?  I've got your men hostage right here!  If you don't show up now, I'm gonna start killing them one by one!"  He paused, as if expecting to hear an answer.  "Or maybe you want me to do that, huh!?  Just do the same thing from nine years ago and let your men die all over again!?" 

The Stinger Force leader was shaking, as if on the verge of shattering.  He was screaming now.  " _Traitor!_   _Fucking show yourself!"_

The click of a pistol hammer.  "Speak of the devil, and he shall appear."

The leader went completely still.  For an indeterminate amount of time, nothing happened, then he spoke quietly, loud enough for only the two of them to hear. 

"Is that you, Boss?"  It sounded so alien compared to the erratic speech heard seconds earlier. 

Snake stepped forward, aiming his AM D114 at his opponent's head.  "Hands up."  The leader did as he was told, ever so slowly.  Snake removed his rifle and did a quick pat-down to find and take his other sidearms.  "Turn around."

The man turned, and the eyes surrounded by the balaclava widened, then narrowed.  _"Boss?"_ he said, like the name itself was a word from a different language.  He nodded towards the horn in Snake's head.  "You've changed."  A wicked grin stretched underneath the balaclava, and he let out a low, humourless laugh that rocked his shoulders.  "I guess now your true self is showing through, huh?   Now no one could mistake you for anything but the monster you really are!"

A sharp pain needled in Snake's head, but he did his best to pay it no mind.  There was a lot that he could have said to the man in that moment, like who was he, why did he attack Mother Base, how did he know him, etc.  But it would have to wait.  For now, he kept his icy glare fixed, and smashed a 120 volt-laced fist into the Stinger Force leader's face, causing ice-blue arcs of electricity to dance over the man's rigid form before he collapsed to the floor. 

Snake holstered his pistol.  "It's over, Kaz," he growled into his radio. 

 _"Roger that, Boss.  Leave the rest to us."_   The loudspeakers screeched to life.  _"Attention, hostile force.  We have eliminated your commander.  Escape is impossible.  Lay down your weapons immediately.  Surrender now, and you will not be fired upon."_

Snake could hear choppers approaching and Diamond Dog soldiers rushing in to capture the Stinger Force men, but he couldn't be bothered to pay much attention to any of it as he slid down the ladder to the lower deck and freed the hostages.  It was now, after putting the intruding force down, that all the other events that had taken place earlier became refreshed in his memory again, and their weight felt terribly draining. 

Leaving the staff to take care of the Stinger Force, Snake walked back to the command platform.  The sky was cloudless and warm with the morning rays, though it seemed muted to Snake.  The farther away from the R&D platform he got, the quieter it got, something he appreciated at the moment.

As he'd expected, he found the Mbele boys waiting near the main helipad, still yawning from having just woken up.  Wordlessly, Snake bent down in front of one of the boys and held out his hand containing Shabani's necklace.  The former child soldier gingerly picked up the red cord in his thin fingers and let the memento rest around his neck.  His expression was unreadable, but he quickly lowered his head onto his knees, and the others followed suit. 

Snake bowed his head as well, wishing there was something he could say, but the standard words of consolation rang as hollow and cliché, and nothing felt genuine enough.  He found the silence better suited to the situation.

"Boss."

Snake got to his feet and turned around to see Miller and Ocelot standing a few feet away.  DD was already dashing towards Snake, and it was only the rigorous training he had been through that kept him from jumping on top of his master to knock him down, settling instead for excitedly hopping at his knees and barking. 

For his part, Ocelot had not bothered commanding DD to stop or come back to him, allowing the dog to bask in his relief.  "He'd been worried sick ever since the enemy infiltration began," he told Snake, who was still giving DD an overdue allowance of head pats.  "When he heard you over the radio, he was going stir-crazy, trying to get out and find you." 

Snake couldn't not soften at that, and scratched the dog around the ears.  "Appreciate the thought," he murmured.  DD gave an open-mouthed doggy smile and sat down to bark, his own salute. 

They walked to the other side of the platform to put a respectful distance between them and the children before talking. 

Miller began.  "We've figured out who that enemy commander was.  He was on the staff at Mother Base nine years back.  Despite surviving the attack, he broke off from us, and spent his years terrified that a clean-up squad would come after him."

"Something which did happen to several of the other wandering survivors," Ocelot pointed out.  "His fears were justified." 

"The isolation screwed with his sense of loyalty," Miller went on.  "A rumour, source unknown, had him convinced... that the attack nine years ago, was orchestrated by you yourself.  That Big Boss sold out his comrades to hide from the world.  He thought that's why you weren't at the base that day.  He was so desperate to take us down, he built up his own PF, copying us in every way." 

Snake sighed in dismay, which caused DD to look up at him with worry.  "No doubt the scars of the past run deep in him.  Mosquito Stinger Force... probably wasn't an accident he chose the name to have the same initials as Militaires Sans Frontières."

Miller's jaw tightened, the light dancing across his sunglasses.  "His idea of the perfect revenge.  But in the end... he was just a victim of disinformation.  I'll leave you to decide how to deal with him."

"Keep him and his men in the brig for now, but assign some psychological counselors to work with them.  In the meantime, I want our intel staff to go through everything we gathered on the Devil's House."

"Skull Face," Miller said in a dark voice.  "So he was in Africa, after all.  Working behind the scenes, with even that Man on Fire at his beck and call... But what the hell was going on at the Devil's House?  Earphones embedded in people's throats, tapes playing voices... And those lumps on their chests... It looked like the ones on the bodies at the oilfield."  There were too many questions raised today, and barely any answers. 

"The Man on Fire burned everything to the ground.  But we were recording audio the whole time you were there.  We'll conduct a thorough analysis of it," Ocelot said.

"Let me know the instant you have something," Snake said firmly.  "Those people were used like disposable objects and abandoned to die slowly.  We need to stop XOF so that their souls can be put to rest."

Both Miller and Ocelot nodded.  Before anything else could be said, the sound of an approaching helicopter compelled them all to turn towards it. 

"If I'm not mistaken, that should be the team that was in Lebanon carrying out a civilian evacuation," Ocelot deduced. 

The door slid open, and Quiet popped her head out to look directly at Snake.  Her brows knitted as she seemed to notice something, and she promptly jumped out of the chopper, falling some thirty feet through the air before harmlessly landing on the helipad.  She closed the distance between herself and Snake in seconds, suddenly face to face with him, the telltale black mist of her running ability still visible.  DD barked in surprise and protest--he was still wary of Quiet, and a little jealous of the time she spent with his master. 

Snake raised an eyebrow--Quiet's eyes were framed with the strange black butterfly marking, usually a sign that she was ready to fight.  Yet her expression had a childlike earnestness to it, and if anything, the way she regarded him suggested concern rather than aggression.  She leaned her face in further until there were only inches between them.  Dark lashes fluttered with each blink, and some of her bangs faintly moved while she bobbed her head around during her study of him. 

"Hey!" Miller said sharply, unappreciative of Quiet's brash approach to the Boss.  But Snake didn't budge or voice any complaint, so no one had the actual conviction to pull her away. 

Apparently satisfied, Quiet stepped back, and her face's butterfly cleared away.  She made sure she had Snake's gaze, though, when she frowned and indicated to the chest area of his sneaking suit.  She looked at Ocelot and Miller, expectant. 

Ocelot understood.  "Those look like bad burns, Boss," he said helpfully. 

Snake looked down at the twisted, partially-melted material.  "Kind of forgot about it," he admitted, though he couldn't hide a wince of pain when he touched the area.  The skin underneath was surely red with first-degree burns.  "Happened when that human barbecue grabbed me."

"Better get them treated at the medical platform.  While you're there we'll also take samples from your body and clothes and test if there are any traces of whatever caused that sickness at the Devil's House." 

Quiet had a small reaction to what Ocelot said then, and her eyes darted between him and Snake.  She looked worried again, Snake thought, though she was trying to hide it.  She unconsciously licked her lips, and Snake noticed how full they were, before she backed up a few steps before turning to go back to her cell. 

He watched her go, absently aware of an odd, wistful sensation deep within him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohh, so that was a long(er) chapter! I knew it was going to be, although when I was planning it, originally it included twice as many plot points. But once I started writing, the word count went up quick, so it had to be cut at about two-thirds the length of the plan. There is a lot of stuff going on in this one, and it might come off as too dense, but I wanted to include all of these plot points and POV scenes for their relation to the chapter title. 
> 
> I had more fun writing the POVs of Ocelot and Miller than I assumed I would, and I wanted to show how they contrasted with regards to their interactions with the Mother Base staff. With Miller, it was tough to keep him human and sympathetic while still possessing those revenge-focused goals that make him cruel and even manipulative. I have more in-depth ideas for Ocelot, but they will come later. 
> 
> Coming up with some backstory/flavour for the DD soldiers was fun, though time-consuming. 
> 
> Regarding Skull Face speaking to the test subject in the Devil's House: the MGS Wiki says the non-English line he speaks is an African dialect, but it made more sense to me that he's speaking Hungarian. Later on there is a scene in which Skull Face says "a few words of my native tongue here and there won't trigger the symptoms," plus in GZ, on one of Chico's cassette tapes, you can hear him speak Hungarian, so I took this to be the case. 
> 
> The mission 22/Mother Base capture section was tough. When I write for Snake, I do my best to imagine Kiefer Sutherland's voice saying the lines, and judge if it sounds all right or not. This took me down a serious 24 memory lane journey, and I can see that I need to be careful to differentiate between Snake and Jack Bauer. In general, Snake tries to disarm his enemies and try not to kill people (at least in cutscenes), whereas Jack's just yelling/threatening/murdering/torturing constantly. :p


	8. Interlude: Machination

Skull Face was quite pleased that things were going according to plan. 

The development of Sahelanthropus, the perfecting of the English strain of the vocal cord parasites... Even his encounters with Big Boss were possibilities he had taken into account.  The uninvited arrival of the man once known as "Naked Snake" at the Ngumba industrial zone lab had not been especially surprising to Skull Face, though he would later be impressed when his agents relayed to him that the Boss' remains were not found in the wreckage, and that the Man on Fire had been incapacitated. 

It didn't matter, of course.  The Boss and his band of mutts wouldn't be able to discover what was being done at the test lab, at least not in time to stop Skull Face's magnum opus from being revealed. 

And there was the fact that Tretij Rebenok still followed his orders.  It was the undeniable proof that _his_ anger and hatred were the most powerful.  He was above the fiery freakshow, and above the lowly snake.  He would not lose. 

Skull Face's rage was an absurdly healthy spawn, gorged on several lifetimes' worth of atrocities.  Childhood memories of screaming, gunfire, bloodstains and explosions.  Seeing what happened to a body when a tank rolled over it.  Schoolmates' body parts blown apart by mortar strikes, peppering the ground as thoughtlessly as jigsaw pieces.  Hunger so severe that it caused physical agony.  Women young and old, and children both female and male, raped whether they were alive or recently deceased.  Searing oil burning him, _cooking_ him, into a fried abomination.  Being denied his own words, the words of his parents, his identity.  Violations of all possible degrees.  By the time he had reached adulthood, there was nothing left that could hurt him, or unnerve him. 

But then he had been proven wrong when he met Zero.  This pretentious, arrogant product of a bloated, self-aggrandizing nation that only got to where it was by spreading like a plague and devouring other places and peoples for its own, while shitting out their already established cultures.  At least necrotizing fasciitis and gangrene didn't pretend to be your friend before tearing you apart. 

It had turned Skull Face's stomach to think that Zero believed that merely by being older and having seen some battles, he could relate to what Skull Face had been through.  The privileged fool had the luxury of having a favourite food and drink, whereas for a period of his childhood, Skull Face's diet had consisted of pest animals and scraps he'd scooped out of the trash with his grimy, bony fingers.  Zero had also once confided in Skull Face that he find American-accented English to be uncouth in sound and composition, totally unaware of how pompous he came across to the Hungarian. 

If ever there was a language-equivalent of a vandal, English would be it, Skull Face knew without a doubt.  The grotesque, deviant tongue was thieving by nature, building upon itself using pieces from other languages as it pleased, leaving an unnecessarily complicated, contradictory mess.  And now it was the only thing he could ever actually converse in.  Each sentence uttered was like sucking on greasy coins. 

The "Son of the Boss" had been different than Zero.  When Skull Face had first seen dossier photographs of Naked Snake, he was astonished at how young he was, given his accomplishments.  Then it dawned on him that the youthfulness was in large part due to how unblemished he was.  Not even in his thirties yet, compared to Skull Face, this man was a beautiful, newborn baby.  Somewhere then was an infinitesimal moment where Skull Face had wondered what he himself would have looked like if he still had his skin--would it have been like Snake's?--but the moment was immediately swatted away as soon as it was realized. 

Being the infant Snake's babysitter during Operation Snake Eater wasn't the most detestable task; the Boss' apprentice had proven quite adept in surviving in the wilderness and making his way through Soviet territory without raising alarm, which Skull Face appreciated, as it allowed him the opportunity to kill Soviet soldiers for himself whenever he wanted (while ensuring the remains would never be found or identified).  Snake's success in killing the Boss was a testament to his worthiness to succeed her, but he was still a dumb pawn, a tool of America.  He had killed a great woman, a woman he had loved, to preserve a rotten empire that would never allow the Boss' wish to become reality.  Skull Face didn't bear Big Boss any true ill will--but he did know that the man had to die. 

It was much easier to accept that notion when Skull Face thought of how ridiculously merciful Big Boss was.  His sympathy for the juvenile Chico and the deceitful Paz had made the way to trap him a no-brainer, and his experience with only amateur levels of savagery had prevented him from discovering the second bomb that was hidden inside the "Angel of Peace."  Even as a demon, Big Boss was still just a child compared to him.  Skull Face did hope that the Boss had at least killed Emmerich after he'd left the Afghanistan base camp with him, though; in the long run, that sniveling pile of waste would only be a toxic hindrance to anyone he was near.  Skull Face himself was glad to no longer suffer the spineless lab rat's whining. 

Hearing that Quiet had gone MIA kept Skull Face highly interested in hearing any new intel that could be obtained about her.  There was very little substantial info to go on, hardly a surprise considering Quiet's abilities, but there had been a couple of scouts that had mentioned a sniper providing backup to Big Boss when he was sighted in their AOEs in Africa and Afghanistan. 

Skull Face remembered Quiet fondly, as the skilled young operative who never questioned his orders and executed all missions with brutal efficiency.  Her name was different then, but that didn't matter now anyway.  Being a woman had made her stand out amongst the mostly male crowd, but she had the drive and skills to earn her place within the top ranks of XOF, not an easy feat, to say the least.  When he had found her in Cyprus, still smoky and impaled on the fence, miraculously alive, and Rebenok had briefly left his side to be near her, he knew he had found someone special. 

The application of the "One that Covers" parasites had been highly successful, healing the burned woman almost completely.  Skull Face had found some amusement in how she, post-therapy, had the same newborn look of perfection that Naked Snake once had, except her insides were still horribly mangled like he himself was on the surface.  The strain they had used was not identical to what was used on the Mist Unit, for the plan required her to still have a coherent mind for speech.  As a result, she couldn't summon armoured skin, stone projectiles or mist, but that was a pittance to pay to carry the other parasites that had the power to wipe out the English language.  She had been grateful to him for the second chance, and promised him with her eyes that she would carry out her mission. 

But Skull Face wasn't worried.  With her already superior skills amplified to superhuman levels, no target stood a change against her, whether or not she used a gun.  No matter how great Quiet believed her thirst for vengeance might be, there was still a chance that those feelings might shift to respect, admiration, even love--or at least lust.  And when such emotions came into play, it would be extremely challenging to resist communicating in speech.  If Quiet could make the Boss have feelings for her as well, that would just be a cherry on top of the jackpot.  It made Skull Face smile, stretching the scar tissue on the corners of his mouth. 

_Dying by the words of a woman close to you--certainly wouldn't be the first time, would it, Big Boss?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short one, yes, I know. I hadn't planned on writing from Skull Face's POV, given that this is a Snake & Quiet-focused fic, but then I was thinking about what I'd felt was lacking in TPP's story and why, and one of the big reasons was how Skull Face was wasted. He had potential as a villain, with a great voice, interesting design, and truly detestable actions, but he unfortunately fell into that annoying Far Cry 3/4 trap of "charismatic villain who's there for the intro and then gone for the rest of the game until the very end," and I felt compelled to write a bit of something that would elaborate on his character.


	9. Five Pounds

After the events with Mosquito Stinger Force, Miller had created a security team to keep Mother Base protected from future incidents.  He also spearheaded plans to create a forward operating base in the mid-Atlantic ridge to house more staff and make the Diamond Dogs more available to missions all around the world.  The R&D staff already had some ideas for security measures that included UAV camera drones, infrared sensors, and anti-theft alarms, and were excited about having the chance to create the new designs. 

The lockdown that had ensued from Mosquito's invasion had in the end lasted only for a day, but if they were ever cut off from the other platforms, or unable to contact the outside world, it would be a massive vulnerability.  Miller couldn't have that.  So he tasked R&D and base development with exploring all possibilities that would bring Mother Base closer to becoming a self-sustained, independent establishment.  A recycling program was put into action to reduce waste and require less raw materials to be found out in the field.  In addition to the solar panels that were already in the process of being installed throughout Mother Base, wind, wave, tidal, and marine current power options were being studied.  Botanists claimed a spot on each of the platforms to create a greenhouse where they could grow their own food and medicinal plants, which the civilian staff were given the job of caring for and harvesting, teaching them valuable skills about herbal remedies and basic medical care.  The staff also worked with the civilians to use the herbs in soap production, encouraging militant hygiene.  The goats and sheep brought back from Afghanistan provided milk and wool, the latter of which the staff sold for funds or turned into clothing. 

The new policies were already yielding positive results.  Mother Base's maintenance costs had gone down, and the self-sufficient image and positive feedback from the civilians provided a sizeable boost to morale.  The pioneering technology behind renewable energy sources and some of the other products that had been developed by R&D were being pitched to carefully-selected corporations for lucrative business deals (although Miller kept all weapons technology off the bargaining table).  Including the security team meant securing more funds, personnel and resources, but Snake and the staff that went out on missions were up to the task.  They made sure to collect all the enemy weaponry and gear that they could get their hands on, and sometimes the skies were dotted with flying tanks, soldiers, and shipping containers.  Base staff would often jokingly say it was Christmastime to announce the imminent arrival of new goods, and several of the children would go running to see what was there. 

Mother Base felt alive.  Miller was glad for it, though he abstained from indulging in the smiles and light-heartedness that the other staff and children did.  He had no room for those things, at least until he had torn Skull Face and Cipher into unrecognizable pieces. 

Then, he thought, surely his arm and leg would stop haunting him. 

****

The team that Buffalo was with for her mission was hand-picked by herself, and included Pirate Gecko, Sly Moth, and Sleepy Gator, all members of the combat unit, and Roaring Octopus, an intel agent.  Gecko was born and raised in Pretoria, South Africa just like Buffalo.  Moth was a Chinese-Korean explosives expert, and Sleepy Gator had been a Sergeant in the US Army.  Octopus was a communications specialist.  He was not very open in talking about himself, so much of him was a mystery, but his work was fast and accurate, and Buffalo could always rely on him. 

They were on their way back to Mother Base in the chopper, unwinding from their mission in Mexico to eliminate a drug cartel's leaders that had been gathering at a luxurious mansion.  The smell of smoke grenades and dirt had clung to them and now filled the air of the ACC, but they hardly minded.  Their job was a success, and they could hold their heads up high to Commander Miller and Ocelot when they returned.  If their timing was lucky, they might even get a chance to see the Boss as well. 

"So what's your schedule like after this, Gecko?" Buffalo asked while taking a swig from her canteen. 

"Got some VIP security detail in Nigeria coming up," Gecko replied.  He ran his gloved hand over his head, dust flying up to be highlighted in the sun's ray's piercing through the windows.  "Hate to break it to you, but it's not happening before tomorrow's poker game, so get ready to lose some serious money," he added with a roguish grin. 

"Oh, well that is some bull-fucking-shit," Buffalo snorted.  "You'll have to remind me again, who made my wallet an extra five hundred dollars heavier for last month's game?" 

"And how much of that did I win from you in the game _before_ that, hmm?"

Buffalo's lips spread wide.  "Just make sure you show up with your funds, Gecko, I'd hate to have to spread tales of you being a pansy-ass."

"Easy there, kids," said Dantes, the pilot.  "Don't be slinging mud inside my house." 

"Just having fun, driver, you know how it is," Gecko chuckled.  "Hey, Moth, I saw you fulton some crates back at the mansion--care to tell us what's inside?"

Moth put on a look of mock-innocence.  "Oh, well, I figured that since the leaders of that cartel are now no longer active, it would be a huge shame to just let all of the nice things they had go to waste... So let's just say that upon our return, Mother Base will soon be having some _very_ nice Don Julio añejo to go around." 

"Nice going!" Gator exclaimed, swapping a high-five with Moth.  "You gonna take your share too, Oc?" he asked merrily.  "Intel deserves some love after that mission too, you know."

Octopus had been sitting quietly with his back against the wall of the ACC.  He gave a good-natured smile.  "I'll take some for the staff, but I, myself won't need any, thank you."

"You serious?" Gator asked, looking as if Octopus had just turned into a robot.  "It's Don Julio, man!  Not some convenience store paint thinner!"

Octopus shook his head politely.  "Tequila's just not for me.  However, if you ever come across good vodka, or, better yet, Riga Black Balsam, please let me know."  Octopus was Latvian, and though he had adapted well to working in the very different environments that Diamond Dog missions took him, there were still a few creature comforts from his home country that he missed.

"We'll keep an eye out, Oc," Buffalo promised. 

Gator changed the subject.  He was still riding the high that had surged through them during the mission, and was eager to talk.  "So Buffalo, I hear you've taken that 'Quiet' out on some missions, huh?  How's that been?  Lotta girl talk happening?"

"Yeah, we do each other's hair and trade sex tips."

Gator's eyebrows arched.  "Do you really?"

"Of course not, dipshit."  Buffalo rolled her eyes and prominently displayed a middle finger to Gator.  "She's been _exceptional_ , Gator.  Cooperates, doesn't complain, spots enemies and prisoners with eagle vision, and always has our backs covered."

"Same here," Gecko said.  "She came with me on that mission to Yemen--she was basically our guardian angel in the flesh." 

Gator shifted in his seat.  "I don't know, man, she's just weird.  Got a hot body, but _weird_."

"And I'm sure your opinion is very important to her," Buffalo said dryly. 

"You know where she is right now?" Moth asked Buffalo.

"With the Boss, searching for some HVT in Africa, I think." 

"They spend an awful lot of time together," Gator said conspiratorially while wiping his face with a scarf.  "And Quiet always looks really into going on missions with him than anyone else.  Do you think there's a... thing going on between them?"

Octopus spoke up before anyone else could, his words measured and clear.  "If by 'thing' you mean a mutual respect and understanding, then yes, Gator.  And when you think of the caliber of missions the Boss goes on, it's easy to see why he'd take the most skilled soldier with him.  She's probably enthusiastic to join him because he goes where there's the most challenge, and because she wants to fight alongside the legendary soldier.  Wouldn't any of us feel the same way?"

Gator had no immediate comeback to that, and could only look indignant for it. 

Gecko decided to cut in for the sake of argument.  "So you think they don't have any feelings for each other?  Nothing going beyond comrades?" 

"If any two people spend an extended period of time together, of course feelings could evolve.  But the Boss is a professional, and so is Quiet.  Anything beyond what is plainly obvious is pure speculation, and a waste of time.  Though, for what it's worth, if the Boss were to get into a relationship with anyone, I wouldn't hold it against him.  It's a rare thing to find someone you can open up to."

****

Snake was hyper-aware of his own breathing.  Under the unrelenting Afghan sun, he had been spending the last several hours crawling around and disarming landmines.  DD was key in sniffing the things out and informing his master, while Quiet, from her higher position and specialized vision, confirmed the mines' locations and also kept an eye out for enemy soldiers that might come close. 

Snake had started taking both DD and Quiet along on missions at Ocelot's suggestion, as the Commander had pointed out that there was plenty of room in the chopper for one more, and it would be good for Snake to have support on the ground near him while Quiet covered them from a distance.  As was often the case, the cat have been right.  DD was not quite affectionate towards Quiet yet, but he did show more interest by turning to look at her whenever she made a noise while moving inside the chopper, or listening with perked ears as she hummed to Snake, whereas before he was more indifferent to her presence. 

His earpiece crackled from the radio.  _"Boss, we've got reports of a sandstorm headed your way.  You've got to leave the area now,"_ Miller warned. 

Snake heard Quiet hum, an urgency in the sound.  "I know," he said under his breath, "just let me finish this last one."  His hands were beginning to cramp up, and he had to pause to flex his fingers a little. 

DD, who had been silently watching over his master until now, turned his head and stared in that direction.  Then he began to growl. 

Without moving, Snake listened.  He could make out one, no, two or more trucks plus a tank heading this way.  "Quiet?"

 _"Mmm,"_ came the low response, and Snake noticed his iDroid beep.  The map updated with three trucks and two armoured vehicles, with a tank in the rear, all headed their way. 

The wind was picking up--the sandstorm was coming in fast.  If he got up right now, there was too high a risk that the mine he was tending to could be triggered by rocks or other material that were sent flying at it.  Adrenaline rushed through Snake's veins, and he went through the remaining steps to disarm the mine.  DD lowered his body to the ground, ears flattened behind his head.  Sand began to fly, and Snake's vision became blurred with beige.  He clenched his teeth, then immediately regretted it as grit flew into his mouth. 

The trucks were clearly audible now.  In a few minutes, they would be close enough to see. 

"Quiet," Snake said tightly, "Find a place nearby we can go hide in to wait for the storm to pass.  Mark it on my map and I'll meet you there!"  As soon as he was done speaking, he pulled his scarf over his mouth. 

He could only barely make out the hummed answer above the sound of the storm, now howling.  He finally removed the firing pin, and rendered the mine inactive.  Lowering his goggles over his eyes, he crawled back away from the  spot before pushing himself up to his feet and heading towards the rocky cliffs where Quiet had been perched earlier.  Stealing a quick glance back, Snake could make out the vehicles through the sand now, and held his iDroid against his chest so that the hologram's light would not be as visible.  A spot on the map was already marked; Snake committed a rough idea of the location and took off towards it, with DD right at his heels. 

He reached the steep mountain walls soon enough, and ducked into a narrow passageway that was barely wide enough to fit a small car.  He hugged the inside walls and waited for the vehicles to pass--they took a longer time, for they, too, were slowed down by the storm.  Then he proceeded on his route. 

The path was one-way, so there was little difficulty for him at first, but there came a point when a powerful gust beat against him, and he felt as though the skin might be worn from his face.  He tried to cover his face while walking, his pace slowing down, and then a slender, gloved arm shot out and grabbed his hand.  He was dragged through the winding passage confidently, until they were inside a small tunnel, and the storm was significantly dulled. 

Snake yanked his goggles off and coughed, turning to spit the sand out of his mouth.  DD showed up beside him and gave a vigorous shake to clean himself off, sneezing a few times. 

"Thanks for that," Snake panted to Quiet, pulling his scarf down.  He blinked a few times, still needing to adjust to being in the darker space.

Quiet nodded and hummed, jerking her thumb further inside the tunnel.  He and DD followed, with only the sound of their footsteps and the ghostly howling of the wind filling the air.  The passageway quickly became narrower; no vehicles would be able to get in here.  Whenever there was an especially uneven footing or a part of rock that jutted from the ceiling, Quiet would stop Snake and point out where to be careful. 

At the end was a large cave, pinkish-red from the sandstone that it consisted of, with a high ceiling that narrowed at the top and provided filtered light from the outside while keeping much of the sandstorm from getting in.  In the corner was a small, natural spring, with water bubbling diminutively.  Snake saw an old table and chair against the wall, along with crates of supplies, lamps, a rug, and a fire pit filled with grey ash.  He recalled hearing from Ocelot that this area had been frequented by Bedouin caravans before the Soviets had arrived. 

Snake got out his iDroid and tried to radio Mother Base, but heard only static, not that he was surprised by it. 

He looked at Quiet.  "I guess we'll be here for a while."

****

At first Quiet and the Boss had only performed the bare minimum of downtime duties, including cleaning their weapons and gear.  As the hours wore on and the outside began to darken, however, they realized they might be staying for longer than they expected, and adjusted accordingly.  The Boss broke apart some empty crates to make a fire with, and collected spring water in a dented pot to boil it.  Quiet lit the lamps using the Boss' lighter, and set them near the wall. 

Every now and then the Boss had a coughing fit, or stopped to brush sand away from his face, until finally he told Quiet that he would have to take a dip in the spring to wash up. 

She knew that he probably should've done it much sooner, of course--sandstorms spread viruses and allergens, and could cause severe damage to the eyes and lungs if a person didn't bathe promptly.  Still she wasn't prepared for how casually he'd announced his intention to her, then walked closer to the water and began removing his clothes right away.  She had averted her gaze to focus on looking for food among the supplies, but when she heard a splash, she couldn't resist the urge to turn her head. 

The Boss had submerged himself completely under the surface, emerging the next second with a refreshed breath of air.  The spring was less than four feet deep so when he stood up, the water only went up to his lower waist, something which Quiet would not admit disappointed her a little.  His heavy body was muscular and exuded strength, but like his face, was tanned and riddled with scars, some from cuts, others from burns, others still from bullets.  Quiet vaguely wondered, when he had been out on missions shirtless?  It was certainly not when she had been with him.  The Boss dunked himself in the water again and washed the dust out of his hair, removing the elastic that had been holding his ponytail and lacing it over his wrist.  A radius of sand expanded around him as he cleaned himself off, and Quiet swallowed as she noticed his broad chest gleaming in the low light. 

DD, who had been pacing back and forth by the water's edge until now, barked impatiently, and the Boss gave him a wave, inviting the canine in.  A messy splash, and DD joined his master, lunging through the shallows and playing like a puppy.  The Boss ruffled DD's neck fur and chuckled, a sight that struck a strange chord in Quiet that she couldn't comprehend, and she made herself go back to looking for food. 

For dinner, there was a modest spread of dried fruits, nuts, canned tuna, olives, and salt-cured meat.  Quiet kept her back turned as she laid out the meal so that the Boss could get out of the spring and get dressed without her seeing.  Booted footsteps approached, and she turned around, trying not to react when she saw that he had chosen to forgo wearing a shirt.  Droplets of water slid over his frame with the slightest movement, and his hair had been tied back again.  Then DD hopped into view, still smiling from his playtime and his fur spiky with wetness.  Quiet was thankful to him for breaking the tension. 

She backed away from where she was sitting to give the Boss space, adding a couple more pieces of wood to the fire while he sat down.  In a plastic bowl she had a mashed-up mix of meat, tuna, fruits and crackers that she set down for DD, who greedily began gobbling it up.  The wolf-dog was well-fed on Mother Base, but the strong smells and tastes of human food would always be of huge interest to him. 

"He's going to love you forever, now," the Boss said with amusement.  He ate his food quite fast, and Quiet observed that he had a sizeable appetite--well, he would have to, given how physical he was in his day-to-day activities.  He even went through the rest of the crackers that were left, which she had given only to DD in the first place because they were stale.  

When both man and dog were finished, they took a long drink of water--the Boss from his canteen, and DD from his food bowl which Quiet had filled with the boiled spring water.  She tentatively held her ungloved hand out to the dog, palm down, curious to see if what the Boss had said was true.  Between loud tongue laps, DD paused to poke his wet nose at Quiet's hand and sniff.  His breath tickled her fingers.  DD then snorted, cocked his head and went back to drinking, as if to say, _"yes, I approve of your presence, go on and pet me."_  

She shuffled closer and touched his head gently, causing his ears to twitch.  It had been a long time since she'd touched an animal, and the mixture of soft and coarse fur was wonderful to feel through her fingers.  Seeing DD's tail flapping against the rug in response to her petting filled her with a simple delight that made her feel childish. 

Eventually she got up and filled her own canteen with clean water from the pot.  She eyed the Boss and hummed at him. 

He understood.  "Go ahead, I'll clean this up.  Thanks for the meal." 

Quiet headed over to the spring's edge for her meal.  Even in the dark, the cave was a startling blue against the rosy cave walls, and it made Quiet miss being able to swim.  But even for a shallow pond such as this, if she'd submerged beyond her thighs she would already start to feel strangled. 

She shed her boots and combat gear, leaving only her mesh leggings and bikini on, before stepping into the spring up to her ankles and pouring her canteen over her.  The relief she felt was overwhelming as every inch of her skin thirstily absorbed the water, leaving her almost dizzy. 

Once she was done, she donned her gear again and walked back to the spot by the wall.  DD was resting his head on his paws, smacking his chops for leftover tastes of dinner.  The Boss had set the empty cans and containers of food on a tray and left them on the table.  By now he had completely dried off, and was now taking languid puffs from his phantom cigar. 

She sat down on her bedroll.  Quiet had seen the Boss use the cigar a few times, but was still puzzled by the mechanics of the device.  The thing didn't have any fire or emit smoke, but instead appeared to be battery-powered and produced a white vapour that was almost completely odourless, save for a faint herbal note. 

He must have caught her staring, for he stopped to explain the cigar to her.  "It's a little weird, I agree," he said, blowing a snow-white trail out through his lips.  "But the real thing is a bit hard to get ahold of."

Quiet pantomimed pulling a cigarette out of a pack. 

The Boss' face contorted disapprovingly.  "That's _not_ the same thing at all," he replied. 

The corner of her mouth lifted up.  _A connoisseur, then._  

The fire snapped with sparks, and for a moment all else was still, then Quiet crossed over to one of the crates and rustled around for a bit.  She found what she was looking for, and came back to show it to the Boss: a container of Smith Kendon travel sweets.  The round tin was scratched and marked with some dents, but the plastic seal was still intact around the lid.  Gesturing to the tin, she held her flat hand, palm-side down, a little below her head, then made two fingers walk like little legs. 

"For the kids," Snake realized, and Quiet nodded.  "I'm sure they'll be happy." 

She hummed in agreement.  Shuffling around to face him, she took hold of the strip of plastic and pulled it off, letting the seal curl and fall onto the rug.  The Boss looked at her, a little perplexed, but she silently turned the cylinder and pulled the lid off to reveal the candies inside, and offered them to him. 

The Boss pursed his lips at the offer, and put away his phantom cigar.  With a small grunt, he pulled up one knee to rest his arm on it.  "Which one would you want?" he asked. 

She frowned at him, annoyance creeping into her features. 

"I know you don't eat," he said, cutting off her silent retort.  "I meant, which one would you want if you did?"

Quiet blinked, and hesitated.  Her hand lowered and she peered into the tin, each square candy dusted generously with powdered sugar.  She reached in and plucked out a red piece, berry flavoured.   Dropping it into the Boss' hand, she watched as he popped the sweet into his mouth, hearing his teeth clack against the hard surface.  DD whimpered and tilted his head to one side, then the other.

"Have to admit, I can't remember the last time I ate something like this."  He sounded surprised, but pleasantly so.  "Excellent choice," he said to his confection sommelier. 

She gave a tiny bow of her head and looked down, uncomfortable at how she'd automatically focused on his lips moving as he sucked on the candy in his mouth.  She closed the tin and put it into one of her pouches, securing the cover with a snap, keeping the souvenir safe.  Rising to her feet, she picked up her rifle and held out a palm against the Boss, signifying that she was taking first watch, and it was non-negotiable. 

The Boss' expression was unreadable, but he didn't fight her on the matter, and leaned his back against the wall and stretched his legs out.  Within minutes, he was fast asleep.  Quiet watched him the entire time, slowly and silently pacing the inside of the cave, with only the sound of the storm, the fire, and the spring echoing against the walls. 

It wasn't until a half hour later that DD was fully asleep as well, having wandered over to be near his master before flopping onto his side, and was now probably dreaming about chasing after Soviet soldiers, judging by his occasional paw movements. 

Quiet raised her rifle to aim at the Boss.

Even though she stood at the other end of the cave, as far away from the Boss as possible, she was still close enough that she could fill her entire scope view with his face.  A fraction of a second was all she needed to get a round into the breech and lodge a bullet between the leader of the Diamond Dogs' eyes right here and now.  Her index finger stretched across the grip over to the trigger.  The knuckles hooked over the curled piece of metal, and waited there. 

_It would be so easy.  Just five pounds of pressure to your finger.  You'd miss out on the chance to get Miller and Ocelot, but those two are inconsequential compared to the Boss.  Your mission and your revenge would be complete.  Isn't that what you want?_

The wind howled above, almost sounding like a booing cry, and sent a veil of sand dancing down between the sniper and the snake.  Even with the black horn and jagged scars, he looked innocent in his sleep. 

She hated him, she decided.  Hated him for being the catalyst that made her into an inhuman freak.  Hated his seeming obliviousness to her identity as his failed killer, and the bruised ego that now tailed her with his every breath since Cyprus.  Hated his family that felt closer and more special than anything she had ever experienced in XOF.  Hated that he trusted her and created all these opportunities for her and yet somehow made her unable to act upon them. 

She was still, so still, for a very long time, all the while watching her target.  By the time she lowered her rifle and went back to add wood to the fire again, the flames had died down to a mere glow.  She resumed her watch, keeping one eye on him throughout. 

Only when the storm cleared did she wake the Boss with a gentle shake of his shoulders, though she avoided meeting his gaze. 

****

Radio signal was finally clear again, and Snake put in a call to Mother Base for an extraction.  There were no words exchanged between Quiet and himself during their wait; they doused the fire before leaving the cave, patiently stood outside while the sun rose, and boarded the chopper to head back in a businesslike fashion.  As usual, Snake went over his iDroid managing activities at Mother Base, and Quiet sat in her reserved seat. 

Sometime later she leaned over to pet DD, who was lying in the middle of the floor, and he acknowledged her with a tail wag.  She moved her hand up to scratch the scruff of his neck, and the wolf craned his head back in pleasure.  He then got up and put his paws on Quiet's knee to raise himself further and licked her face, causing her to sputter and giggle in surprise.  She hurriedly regained control and pushed DD down, forcing stony neutrality back into her face, but her eyes still showed mirth at the dog's behaviour as she rubbed his chin. 

Seeing and hearing her giggle tugged on something inside Snake.  He switched off his iDroid. 

"You didn't have to keep watch for me for that long," he said.  Quiet froze, and spared only a glance at him, looking oddly embarrassed or guilty, he couldn't tell. 

"Thank you, though.  I got some pretty decent rest."  He was being truthful, he hoped she realized.  Sleeping while sitting against a cave wall might've been horribly uncomfortable to most, but for someone like him who spent most waking hours in harsh environments dodging enemy attacks, it had been a huge boon. 

Quiet hummed in a voice so small, Snake almost didn't hear it.  She petted DD for a bit longer, though at a slower pace, before sitting back in her seat.  The dog huffed and lay down again, content. 

They were getting close to Mother Base now.  Being impulsive was not a regular characteristic for Snake.  As his mentor had once taught him, there was no such thing as luck on the battlefield.  He believed in careful planning and execution, and appreciated people's adherence to patterns.  But here he saw a good reason for an exception. 

"Pequod, take us over to the animal conservation platform first," he called out. 

"Roger that, Boss," the pilot answered back, and the craft began to shift slightly. 

Quiet frowned at Snake, but now it was his turn to be withholding.  When they landed on the platform, he pulled open the door and motioned for her to get out.  DD needed no such order, always pleased to get out into a bigger space, but Quiet moved carefully onto this new area. 

The platform was dedicated to separate struts, each one focusing on a different type of animal.  Currently there were three, with one for birds, one for carnivores, and one for herbivores.  Through the sea's never-ending waves and the spinning of the helicopter blades, there were various grunts, calls, footsteps and the beating of wings, a stark cry from what was heard at Mother Base. 

Snake guided Quiet in a leisurely walk over the platform, watching over the enclosures as he explained.  "An NGO commissioned us to rescue animals spotted in the wild so that they can be protected and studied.  We've built this platform to house them in the meantime until they're ready to take the animals off our hands."  Quiet, as always, said nothing, but had a faraway look of wonder as she went up  close to see the creatures, and took the time to read the handy placards that provided facts about them. 

They stopped to overlook the carnivore enclosures.  A small pack of wolves gathered near a large rock, while in another pen, a majestic lion and two lionesses took a lazy nap in the morning sun.  A sandy-coloured bear in a corner pen looked up at the two visitors and gave a deep, grumpy growl. 

Snake recalled the time he had gone out to retrieve the Himalayan brown bear.  "He was a bit of a challenge," he said to Quiet.  "Didn't exactly appreciate being flown up into the air." 

His voice became gentle as he went on.  "Animals are good," he intoned, watching the bear lumber away to inspect a tree stump.  "There's no evil in them, no lying or deceiving--they just do what they do.  It's nice to be around them."  He leaned down to pat DD's side, and received a proud bark in reply. 

Birds sang behind them from their tall cage on the other strut.  Quiet was still fixated on the animals, the sea air rustling her hair and obscuring her expression. 

"I just thought maybe you'd want to see this place," Snake said, uncertainty beginning to find its way into his voice.  He knew that her physiology was different than other people's, but he had to imagine she was still tired from not resting for the night.  He had already thanked her for her vigil, but the words hadn't felt enough. 

He was beginning to feel like this might've been a misstep when she turned to face him.  With her full attention on him, she let a smile form for him to see.  It looked clumsy, shy, awkward and fresh, and her eyes met his for only a moment before darting away to avoid his scrutiny. 

It was how he knew it was genuine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name of the other helicopter pilot, Dantes, is taken from Edmond Dantes, the protagonist of _The Count of Monte Cristo._
> 
> Full confession: when I played the game, I hadn't realized that you can disarm mines by simply approaching them from behind, and ended up just shooting them to get rid of them. :p
> 
> Smith Kendon travel sweets were a personal favourite of mine as a kid. Unfortunately in recent years it's been harder to find them. :(


	10. The Elephant in the Room

A day to herself, and Quiet was wandering around Mother Base. 

The Boss had left early on a mission in Africa to deal with a band of soldiers that had apparently been raiding nearby villages.  Because the soldiers were children, the Boss had elected to go with DD only, as Quiet's rifle would be too dangerous. 

As the Boss had explained his reason for leaving her behind, though, he had seemed apologetic, and mentioned to her that R&D were working on a tranquilized sniper rifle that would be perfect for her.  She hadn't expected that, and gave him a questioning hum--was he really having his staff devote time to making something specifically for her?  He'd confirmed her thought by adding that the one for her would have customizations modeled after her own rifle, so that she could perform in the field at top form.  A fluttery warmth sprung in her chest, and Quiet had smiled for him, accepting the compensation.  The Boss had then given a curt goodbye, promising to return soon. 

For a while Quiet lounged on her cot in her cell, basking in the sun and listening to music (recent additions to Mother Base's cassette collection included Michael Jackson's _Thriller_ and Cyndi Lauper's _She's So Unusual_ ) to pass the time.  Once a soldier passing by spat into her cell, but she simply turned on the shower briefly to wash away the hateful gob--it was not the first time this had happened, anyway--and decided to take a walk. 

There were always guards around her cell, and more on Mother Base overall now with the addition of the security team, but they were aware of her status.  The door of her cell remained locked, out of formality at this point, as she simply phased through it whenever she felt like leaving.  Some places she was barred from entry, which didn't bother her, as she wasn't interested in communications, intel, or the armoury, anyway (her rifle was always kept on whatever chopper the Boss went on, which she found quite agreeable). 

When she went about the base, most of the time she stayed visible; it was easier, since staying cloaked for too long was akin to keeping a muscle tense without rest--eventually, it would become tiring.  In doing so, the soldiers were getting more used to her presence, if not more amicable. 

A few of them were decent towards her.  Flaming Buffalo and Pirate Gecko and a handful of others from the combat unit had gone on several sorties with her at this point, and they, like the Boss, had come to respect her from a professional standpoint.  People were coming to know her as a valuable asset to Diamond Dogs, which curbed a lot of the mean looks and comments she had been frequently subjected to during her first few days here. 

The hostility still happened, of course.  She had never expected it to stop.  The ogling glares and whispers loud enough for her to hear, even the snide remarks from some of the female staff about how she was dressed like a slut--she was sure to hear those for the rest of her life.  As aggravating as it could get, she had always prided herself on her strength of will.  She never rose to their immature baiting, and never retaliated, except for one instance in which a colossal idiot thought he could try to grab her ass without her noticing--she had corrected him with a black eye. 

She hadn't been inside the hidden hangar of the R&D platform in a while, so she went there first.  Here she did need to hide herself from watchful eyes, but it was only for a moment, and then she was standing inside Emmerich's lab. 

The scientist's creation had begun to take shape, though currently there was only the coffin-like main body of the tank that was called the Battle Gear.  Plans strewn around the desks and tables included specs for a rail gun and a heavy machinegun, and frantically scribbled notes put emphasis on speed and agility.  Emmerich was glued to his computer console, creating virtual simulations of the weapon and wearing a smile that looked more suited to blissfully ignorant half-wits than technological geniuses.  Even after Quiet had finally decided to make herself visible again, it took him turning around and bumping into her to actually realize that he wasn't alone in the lab. 

The impact had barely moved her, but he flailed and staggered a few steps back despite the aid of his titanium legs. 

"Whoa, what, I--" he stammered breathlessly, adjusting his glasses.  His face went completely red as he took in the sight of her.  "Uh, who are _you?_ " he asked with bewilderment. 

Quiet just looked at him, resting her hands on her hips.  He had a high voice that was as steady as a junkie's hand.  He looked as if he were putting in a conscious effort to be the epitome of the "awkward dork" archetype that would get picked on by everyone in high school.  He was thin and pale, with soft, boyish features that were at odds with his patchy stubble.  No doubt he spent all his time in here working on the Battle Gear--his face and hair were a little greasy, like he hadn't washed his face since waking up, whenever that was; his shirt was wrinkled and slept-in, and his necktie was loose and limp. 

"Oh!  You must be Quiet," Emmerich blurted out, fighting a losing battle to keep his eyes from hovering around her chest.  "I've heard a bit about you.  They say you have some amazing powers, and that you used to work for XOF.  I-I did too, though, not by choice, you know, they forced me to work for them.  And now I've defected to the Diamond Dogs!  I guess that makes us the same, huh?"  He made a feeble attempt at a friendly smile.

The suggestion that she and Emmerich were the same made Quiet livid.  How was it that Miller could go on and on about wanting _her_ thrown off Mother Base, yet he gave _this man_ his own workspace and carte blanche to make whatever toys he wanted?  _At least I never pretended to be a friend before stabbing someone in the back._   She unconsciously narrowed her eyes at him bitterly. 

Emmerich visibly wilted at her cold look.  "Are-are you... allowed to be here?" he asked nervously.  It was clear he was desperately trying to figure her out, but he was unused to reading people, being more accustomed to the more blatant and predictable processes of machinery.  Terror then overtook his face as a possibility occurred to him.  "Do you intend to take me back to Skull Face?  No!  Pl-please, no!  I need to be here, where it's safe!  You _have_ to protect me from him!  I'm begging you!" 

Quiet imagined Emmerich would just up and shatter into pieces if she jumped at him.  Tiresome of his presence, she spun on her heel and vanished, hearing a startled yelp from behind her as she exited through the door. 

Outside she resumed physical form and kept at a brisk pace, eager to get away from the R&D platform. 

Miller was one thing--that curmudgeonly bastard would hate her forever, fine.  But to think that she was ranked lower than _Emmerich?_   Was the decision really Miller's?  Or did the Boss also sign off on that hierarchy? 

He must have, she thought--he was the leader of this base, so surely all things of importance had to go through the Boss.  Maybe he did remember her from Cyprus--in which case maybe this was all a part of her punishment?  That seemed too passive-aggressive for him, and she took the Boss to be a more direct man.  But she was also allowed to leave the base with him, go on missions with him.  Emmerich seemed cooped up in that hangar ever since he got here, and most of the staff were unaware of his existence.  So, then, did the Boss trust her more than he did Emmerich?

Lost in fruitless thought, her pace had slowed until she stopped altogether, and she looked up to see she was now on the command platform.  Off to the side by the main helipad, she saw Ocelot.  Near the edge of the platform were five target stands, lined up side-by-side like at a shooting gallery. 

The cowboy Commander was practicing wielding his two Tornado-6 revolvers, spinning them around his fingers, flipping them over his shoulders and switching hands with them in a truly impressive display of hand-eye coordination.  He had done this countless times, that much was obvious, the way he knew exactly where one pistol would be when he tossed it from left to right while the other was being bounced forward and back between the grip and barrel.  Quiet thought if someone gave him an empty hat and put him on a boardwalk, he could have made a decent amount of money in one afternoon. 

Quiet edged closer, making sure her footsteps were silent as she observed the gunman.  He leisurely pivoted on his spurred heel towards an invisible mark and faced the targets, still spinning both pistols, apparently not paying much attention to anything else. 

There was a second's worth of pause from the twirling sound of revolvers as Ocelot grabbed one firmly to shoot.  Two shots fired, popping the paper of one of the target stands, then he spun it again while the left hand got its turn to shoot two into another target.  He repeated this several times in a stylish, if not superfluous manner, each gun firing one or two shots into the paper silhouettes' heads in-between spins and flips. 

After ten shots were fired, both guns were tossed into the air, weaving over each other, and Ocelot whirled around to catch and aim them at Quiet, as though that were part of the act all along. 

 _If you're looking to make me flinch, you'll have to do better than that._ Quiet stood her ground. 

Ocelot didn't look disappointed--if anything, he seemed approving.  He then adjusted the position of both hands to specific angles directed behind him, and pulled the triggers.  Metallic pinging sounds echoed sharply as the two bullets ricocheted, leaving dented marks in the walls and part of a guard rail, before one punched through the remaining target's head and the other through where the heart would have been. 

Quiet crossed her arms and acknowledged Ocelot with a respectful tilt of her head.  _Credit where credit's due_ , her eyes said. 

Ocelot spun his revolvers to blow the trailing smoke away and looked back to admire his handiwork.  "Need to get some practice in at least every once in a while," he said lazily, walking over to the target paper to trace the holes with his finger.  "I don't do much field work anymore, but that's no excuse to let my skills slack off." 

He regarded Quiet thoughtfully, and it made her uncomfortable, but not in the way that the Boss' looks did.  If she didn't know any better, it was as though Ocelot could pierce through her carefully laid defenses and see everything she was thinking.  With the Boss...

Ocelot kept talking.  "Stuck at home with nothing to do, huh?  Well, boredom's always a tricky devil to deal with."  He reloaded each of his revolvers.  "The combat units are already all out on missions, and there's still too many men that are nervous around you for any CQC training to take place... So, what can be done for you to pass the time?"  

Stopping within arm's reach of her, he clicked the loaded chambers into place.  Holding her gaze, he stepped over to a crate and pulled the canvas covering off of it to reveal a slew of disarmed land mines. 

"Don't worry, there aren't any explosives left in these," Ocelot said, "they're just empty cases."  He picked one up and showed it her, a sly look on his face.  "How's your throwing arm?"

Quiet mirrored Ocelot's expression as the understanding sunk in.  The butterfly flashed across her eyes. 

They set up on the helipad.  The rules were that they each got one pistol with six shots per round, and took turns being the shooter while the other one threw the mine casings.  There was no prize for winning, Ocelot said, just some friendly clay pigeon mine shooting. 

The first round had gone easily enough, with both of them shooting six mines with six bullets before they had even begun to dip.  The second round, the shooter took ten paces back, but the score was still tied.  For the third round, Ocelot challenged that they shoot amidst distraction. 

Quiet held the Tornado-6 at the ready, waiting for Ocelot.  He whipped the mine upwards into the air.  As she took aim, there was a loud clatter as Ocelot had purposely dropped some of the mines onto the helipad.  

She wasn't deterred, and still shattered the flying target.  Lowering her arms, she glanced at Ocelot.   _Really?_ she asked wordlessly. 

He chuckled, and picked up the next mine.  It flew high and far.  Just as Quiet had its trajectory locked down, Ocelot fired at it first, chipping the corner and diverting the mine down and to the right.  Quiet swiftly adjusted and fired her shot to hit it before it went out of her range. 

When he got her nod of approval, he flung the third one up and away, hurtling towards the open sea.  Quiet zeroed in on the makeshift clay pigeon and put her finger on the trigger. 

"Do you still intend to kill the Boss?"

Her shot hadn't missed, but it wasn't dead center like it had been for all the others.  She glared at Ocelot, but he wasn't looking at her, already bending over to pick up the next mine.  He threw it before standing back up, sending the mine almost parallel to the horizon.  Quiet shot it to pieces, feeling impatient.  It had to be her imagination, but the gunfire sounded louder in her ears each time. 

They were on the fifth mine now.  Quiet was ready, but Ocelot was suddenly slow to act, as if this hadn't been his idea to begin with and he was just participating for her sake.  His gloved fingers idly danced over the mines stacked in the crate, searching for just the right one out of an identical supply.  Quiet's teeth pressed together hard. 

Finally, Ocelot had the last mine in hand.  With the form of an Olympian, he threw it skyward. 

She took aim.  In that moment she wanted nothing more than to shoot the damn mine to bits. 

His voice was casual, but still had gravity to it.  "How do you feel about the Boss?" 

She became stone.  Her focus failed her, and her limbs didn't respond.  The mine was still in the air, but even as she pulled the trigger she knew it wasn't going to hit anything.  The shot rang out like a cannon blast inside her brain.  Her arms sunk, the butterfly disappeared from her face, and the mine fell below the edge of the helipad. 

Spurs jingled as Ocelot came closer to her.  All of the playfulness had left him.  "You've been with us for a while, now.  You haven't tried to make outside contact, you obey orders, and you've been a great help to Diamond Dogs.  But there's still one thing that's not clear, and until it is, you'll stay in that cage." 

He was practically toe-to-toe with her now.  "The Diamond Dogs are here by their love for the Boss.  They fight for him, and they'll die for him if they need to."  He pointed to her with both hands in a gesture of habit.  "We all know you fight.  But are you willing to put your life on the line to protect his?" 

Quiet averted her eyes.  The revolver in her hand felt extremely heavy.

Ocelot's voice lowered in volume.  "It's a simple question, one that you don't even need to say out loud.  Just mouthing it would be enough." 

She couldn't answer the question, because that would require her to think about it.  Because it would mean she had to face the truth about the weird and unruly thing that had been building up inside her, hidden beneath those more acceptable and recognized feelings of frustration, self-loathing, and rage.  She had kept those blacker emotions well-fed and prominent, but like a leaky faucet, that new and uninvited thing still insisted on dripping out, and it was becoming harder to ignore. 

She tried to give her meanest look at Ocelot, one that she had perfected over the course of her life and would've made any other man reconsider ever speaking to her again.  But instead, all that came out was a look of tortured ambivalence.  She returned the revolver to him, the final bullet still resting in the chamber, and walked away.  

She scanned the skies, wishing to see a returning chopper.

****

The sleeping gas that had been developed by the R&D team was definitely a keeper, Snake had decided.  With the right timing and wind direction, the entire area was blanketed in a bluish haze, leaving the child soldiers harmlessly asleep on the ground while Snake and DD remained alert on the higher ground.  Once the gas had cleared, Snake rounded the children up into one spot with DD's help, and after divesting them of their weapons, fulton-extracted them back to Mother Base (the latest version was thankfully child-safe). 

Snake knew that they weren't done, though.  All the boys he'd captured were dark-skinned, and reportedly the leader of this group was Caucasian.  He made his way towards a derelict old fishing boat--the only place they hadn't looked yet. 

Snake held his hand out to DD and commanded with a whisper: _"Stay."_   The dog obeyed and hunkered down, but remained ready to spring in action at a moment's notice. 

He ascended a ladder that was on the far side of the boat to get to the main deck.  The vessel was a monument of rust and rot, with layers of paint in different colours peeling away.  The entire stern of the boat was exposed as though it had been ripped off, the hull gutted and repurposed into a ground-level living space.  Snake considered the fact that it was late noon, and that by any standards a commander should have been aware of the sudden silence in the area and trying to find out what had happened to his men, but he remained uninterrupted in his advance.  The commander was either ignorant as hell, or didn't mind losing his men as long as he got a one-on-one show with his enemy. 

_Either way, a less-than-ideal leader._

At the top of the stairs, Snake saw the commander in the empty captain's quarters.  "So you're the so-called White Mamba," he said plainly. 

The boy was at the other end, seated on a plastic garden chair with his legs wide apart and hands folded behind his head in a trying-too-hard display of looking greater and bigger than he actually was.  A richly-patterned curtain was draped over the wall behind him, and his ersatz throne was on top of a box to raise him almost to the height of adults even when seated.  He had slicked-back blonde hair and blue eyes, and light skin that easily explained his alias, though it was already getting tanned.  He wore combat fatigues, though with the sleeves ripped off and the cuffs rolled up into shorts to balance out against the African heat and humidity, and gloves and boots, which Snake guessed might be one or two sizes too big for the boy.  The only notable "decor" in the room was situated between the White Mamba and Snake: a stack of boxes that prominently held a platter with a pig's head, flies buzzing around it. 

 _Someone's taking playing pirates a bit too far_ , Snake mused.

The child commander said nothing to Snake, only leaning forward and lifting one leg to rest it on the other.  He held his head high with a child's unwavering pride--and impudence. 

"Something tells me that's not the name your parents gave you."

Which part of his sentence had triggered something in the White Mamba, Snake couldn't say, but suddenly the boy's eyes lit up with unbridled hate, and he grabbed a nearby bottle and threw it directly at him. 

"You're dead!" the White Mamba shouted.

Snake knocked the projectile aside with his arm, the glass shattering against the wall, but the commander was already out of his chair and leaping at him with a machete.  Snake deftly sidestepped the attack, grabbed the machete out of his opponent's hand and knocked him down with a palm strike to the chest.  He tossed the blade to the ground and watched as the boy scrambled to his feet, gritting his teeth from the pain.  Rubbing dirt off of his cheek, the boy sped off around the corner to regroup. 

 _"So that 'commander' thinks he can take you on,"_ Ocelot piped in over the radio.  _"Use your tranq gun, CQC, anything you like.  Just teach him a lesson, already."_

The kid was nothing if not tenacious--he came at Snake with a no-holds-barred approach of using whatever tools and skills he had, from rocks to bottles to molotov cocktails.  His problem, Snake saw, was his rage.  The White Mamba was so driven with bloodlust that he growled, shouted taunts, stomped over the ground, and made wild, imprecise moves that instantly gave away his position and left him open to counterattacks.  But that rage was going a long way in fueling the boy, keeping him going despite the (diminished) throws and hits that Snake subjected him to.  Even so, his stamina was going to give out long before his mind ever would. 

The commander snarled and snatched up a butcher's knife from a table, the chipped blade flashing through the air as he slashed at Snake.  "Bastard!" he yelled out.  "Not yet, Snake!  It's not over yet!" 

Snake directed the White Mamba's slash upwards and shot a fist straight into the boy's solar plexus, sending him sprawling on the ground.  The butcher's knife clattered over the edge of the deck and fell down below. 

The boy struggled to drag himself away as Snake loomed over him.  Still not willing to give up, he grabbed the garden chair that had fallen on the floor and swung it at Snake, before backing him against a wall, pinning him in place with the chair legs. 

Snake saw the anger in the White Mamba's face morph to murderous delight as the boy pulled a combat knife out of his belt.  

_All right, enough of this shit._

He grasped the boy's wrist and squeezed hard, almost enough to risk fracturing the bones.  The knife fell from the smaller hand's grip, and Snake backhanded the White Mamba's face, kicking the chair away and freeing himself up to kick against the side of his knee.  By this point, the commander had next to no poise left in his attacks, and made one final attempt by charging at the bigger man, but Snake caught his hands and flipped him up and over in a tight arc, bringing him crashing down with a cloud of dust.  To ensure that there wasn't any doubt about the end of the fight, Snake drove the knife into the floor right next to the White Mamba's face, the force so hard that it was buried nearly to the hilt. 

"You lose, 'commander,'" Snake ground out, quickly binding the child's wrists together.  The White Mamba gnashed his teeth before closing his eyes and collapsing, the humiliation of his defeat having paved the way for physical exhaustion to set in. 

Snake could already hear the chopper outside as he hoisted the White Mamba over his back and exited the boat.  DD perked up at the sight of the stranger his master was carrying, but followed in silence to the landing zone.  Once the chopper had touched ground, Snake put the child commander down and sliced off his ropes, extending a hand to help him up.  He knew full well that from the younger soldier was bound to be seriously hurting from the earlier fight.

The White Mamba looked at Snake's hand as though it were poisonous, and got to his feet on his own, wincing.  Just short of giving a haughty "hmph," he boarded the chopper, and only when DD and Snake were inside and gave him an indication of where to sit with a nod of his head did the child commander defiantly elect to sit in a different seat, resuming the same pose he had when he was on his "throne" earlier. 

Snake was starting to regret not just shooting a dart into the kid from the start. 

The ride back was thick with silence.  Even with radio debriefings, Snake had asked for them to be done later, and he had barely touched his iDroid the whole time.  He couldn't explain it, but didn't feel right with letting the White Mamba have any insight of Diamond Dogs' operations if he could help it.  DD sat on the floor by Snake, and although normally the dog would have been panting with energy and offering the occasional encouraging bark, he was acutely aware of the tension here, and kept a watchful eye on the kid. 

When they landed at Mother Base, it was not a moment too soon.  Snake pulled the door open and stepped out first, once again offering a hand to the White Mamba, and again he was rudely rebuffed. 

Snake's fist squeezed in irritation.  _What the fuck is this kid's problem, anyway?_   He turned and walked past him, slapping his hand on the boy's back as he went.  "Welcome to Outer Heaven," he said sarcastically. 

He had just enough time to hear the frantic footsteps and DD's barking behind him before he felt his knife been pulled out.  With rejuvenated purpose, the White Mamba went to stab at Snake again, but the attack was foiled as quickly as it began, with Snake tossing him onto the floor, this time with all the force he would use against a fully-grown adult.  DD was a few feet away, fangs bared and fur bristled. 

 _Clearly the knife through the floor wasn't enough._   A simple jerk, and Snake dislocated the boy's elbow, eliciting a agonized and furious scream.  Combined with the blows sustained from earlier, any other child of the same age would have been crying and red-faced by now, but the White Mamba looked just as upset by being made to vocalize his defeat as he was from the actual pain.  With hissing breaths, he made a futile reach for the knife, but Snake picked it up and held it in front of his face. 

"We have rules around here.  _Never_ draw a weapon on a fellow soldier.  You got that?"  Snake didn't wait for an answer, but slipped the knife back into its sheath and crossed over to the boy's right side, grabbing the injured arm and unceremoniously resetting the bones with a cringe-worthy crunching noise.  Again the White Mamba yelled from the pain, groaning as he gripped at his arm. 

"Anyone here can use a knife or a gun," Snake stated.  "What you're going to learn is how to use your head.  When you get that under your belt, then you're free to leave."  He set a calming hand on DD's head, he could still feel a low growl rumbling through the wolf's body.  The White Mamba slowly stood up, and Snake cast a look to the guards that were standing by to have them escort the newest arrival to the children's quarters.  He didn't miss the final sulky, spiteful look that the child commander made at him before he went out of sight. 

"Seems like that kid's got a hell of an attitude problem," Ocelot said as he showed up from around a corner.  DD's aggressiveness faded, and his tail was wagging again with the appearance of his trainer. 

"You think?" Snake huffed. 

"Though I guess he'd have to be that headstrong and aggressive to manage to lead his own little army devoid of adults.  That's impressive in its own right."

"He's going to be a world of trouble, if I had to guess." 

"Shall we toss him back, then?"

Snake sighed wearily.  "No, he's already here, let's see how it goes.  Keep a guard on him, though--and make sure they don't underestimate him."

Ocelot nodded.  "Will do." 

Snake had noticed that Ocelot appeared somewhat preoccupied.  "Something on your mind?"

"Hm?  No, nothing that can't wait.  It's getting late now--why don't you call it and take the night to rest for once in a while?"

"Doesn't sound like a bad idea.  I'll do that." 

"Oh, and uh, make sure to shower thoroughly, too."

Snake looked mildly offended.  "Are you trying to tell me something, Ocelot?"

The cat shrugged, shaking his head.  "I'm just saying, those ten-second rinses you do in the portable stalls aren't always enough.  We don't want you or any other staff getting sick because of unsanitary habits.  You have that hot water you get in your private quarters for a reason, so you might as well use it.  Go on, I'll take DD to get fed." 

DD's tongue dangled further out of his mouth, and his eyes brightened at the mention of food. 

"Fine," Snake muttered.  "While you're at it, you can see that he gets a bath, too." 

DD grunted in a high-pitched tone, but quickly left with Ocelot. 

Snake's personal quarters were located in the main tower of the command center, near Ocelot and Miller's.  He didn't spend much time there, but the custodial staff kept it clean and changed the linens regularly all the same. 

Once Snake was inside and the door was closed, he went through the task of removing all his weapons, carefully unloading them and placing them on the desk.  He unclasped his belts and harnesses, letting them pile on the floor, moving onto his boots.  The gloves, socks, camo uniform and the rest followed, and he switched on the bathroom light and turned on the shower.  He gave it a moment, letting the water heat up, before stepping in to stand under the hot stream and relax. 

When he opened his eyes, he saw the water turning brown with grime coming off of his body as it streamed towards the drain.  Such a sight might have disgusted others, but for him it was a relief, like shedding an old skin and seeing the day's troubles being carried away from him.  With Ocelot's advice in mind, he thoroughly washed his hair with shampoo and scrubbed from head to toe with soap until the water ran clear.  He stood for a while, hands pressed against the wall and his head down, water pouring down over his face while steam billowed up.   Eventually, he turned the faucet off and got out. 

He kept his eyes away from the sink and the mirror above it for as long as possible, toweling himself off furiously in the meantime.  He didn't particularly like looking at himself following the destruction of the old Mother Base.  The last time he had, he was faced with a haggard, faded version of himself with a demonic appendage coming out of his hairline.  He had little use for mirrors anyway--vanity was a low concern for him, to say the least, and even if it were, he was far past the point of being eligible for something of aesthetic value, anyway, considering all the battle scars he had on him.  Frankly, sometimes the sight of himself brought on headaches, as odd as that sounded.  But the thought that had been dwelling in his mind for the last several hours wasn't going away, so he resigned himself to it and wiped the fog away from the mirror. 

He grimaced as he studied the features reflected back at him.  They were older, and marred with scars, but he could not deny it: the White Mamba had the same features. 

He tried to tell himself that he was reading too much into it, that he was simply tired, that it was a coincidence--but none of those explanations felt right. 

The Les Enfants Terribles project--Zero's greatest betrayal of Snake, the bodily violation, the commoditization, of his identity.  The timeline of that mad science experiment would certainly line up with the White Mamba's apparent age, though Snake couldn't begin to guess how the kid had ended up in Africa as a child soldier.  Had Cipher planted him there?  Was getting him captured and brought to Mother Base part of some plan?  That didn't seem likely--if they thought Snake would be seized by some sort of paternal feelings for the boy, it would be their most off-target presumption ever. 

The steam clouded over the mirror again, and Snake left it alone.  It was pointless to worry about this now, when there still wasn't any concrete proof. 

Tossing the towel onto the rack, he padded into the room and fished his phantom cigar out of the pile of clothes.  Still warm from the shower, he chose to not bother with dressing and sat on his bed naked as he "lit" the cigar with his iDroid. 

He looked outside of the windows, where the night sky was now filled with stars.  He didn't take his gaze off of the twinkling lights until the cigar's effects had started to take hold and softened his previous thoughts, until they were out of focus, just like the fog on the mirror. 

He remembered then that he'd gotten another photo from one of the old Mother Base soldiers he'd found wandering around in Africa.  He made a mental note to go and visit Paz on the medical platform in the morning.  Hopefully she'd be pleased to see another memento of happier times. 

When Snake finally did go to sleep, he heard Quiet humming in his dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The target shooting/clay pigeon-mine shooting bit occurred to me last minute out of a desire to write Ocelot doing some gun-twirling action. :D


	11. Knowing, Not Knowing

Miller had been awake for a while, but chose to stay in bed and relax while the darkness outside began to recede in favour of the morning.  As the XO of the Diamond Dogs, every working hour held plenty of tasks that required his attention, and though he contributed all of his life and energy to them, right now he was content to enjoy the company he had next to him. 

Night Crane was a surgical nurse whose father was American and mother was Japanese, just like Miller.  Obviously her name had not given away her ethnic background, but when he overheard her in the mess hall lamenting how she missed not being able to eat okonomiyaki, he'd known right away.  She spoke perfect English without any accent, like him, and also had first-hand experience with racial discrimination from both the Japanese and Americans alike while growing up.  Having this much in common made it easier and safer talk with her, though he had still proceeded with caution, being quite out of practice in approaching women. 

A great annoyance to Miller was how people tended to assume that blindness meant a complete lack of sight, when he actually had some small degree of vision.  Colours and light still registered in his eyes, though everything was heavily blurred, like looking through a thick pane of frosted glass.  It had only occurred to him after he'd already started talking to Crane that she, as a member of the medical staff, might not dispense with the pity and discomfort that so many did when encountering someone physically handicapped, and thankfully, he had been correct.  Crane was sympathetic, and asked a few questions about his general well-being, but she wasn't tip-toeing on eggshells with him, and maintained eye contact with him, not his missing arm, leg, or cane.  A few more meetings with increasingly flirty conversations, and Miller had asked Crane if she would like to meet him in his quarters after her shift was over. 

To his surprise, Crane agreed right away.  Despite being half-Japanese, Crane did not possess any of the passive and demure traits that most Asian women were raised with. 

At first, Miller had been a little disappointed, hoping to see that red blush go to her cheeks after he'd extended his invitation to her.  Part of the fun he had with women was with dispensing his charm and breaking down their defenses.  But later that evening, Crane had shown up, dressed casually and with an entirely different air about her.  She had a bottle of shochu with her that they shared a few glasses of, and just as Miller was about to say something, she stepped forward and kissed him.  Her tongue, fiery with the taste of shochu, had slipped into his mouth while she pushed her coat off his shoulders and guided his hand inside of her pants. 

He didn't need any more persuading after that. 

Miller put on his sunglasses and rolled onto his side to get closer to Crane.  Her ink-dark hair splayed over the pillow, and her sleeping face made her look quite innocent, so far from the side of her she had shown last night when she had enveloped him with her mouth before riding him.  Her breasts were on the smaller side, but no less tantalizing in the way they moved as she pumped up and down on him, and once she'd spun around to have her back to him while giving him a view of her rounded behind, he was propelled to the edge much sooner than he'd expected. 

He traced a finger over her shoulder.  The touch made her frown and shift her arm, which flopped over to her side.  She was wearing her t-shirt and underwear, but nothing else, and Miller brushed his hand over the swell of her breast until he found the nipple, and pinched it. 

Crane made an annoyed whine and peeled open her eyes.  When the sight of her offender registered, she sighed and rolled over onto her stomach.

"Morning," Miller said simply. 

"Good morning, sir," Crane answered, smiling.  "Can I ask what time it is?"

"Nearly six o'clock."

She closed her eyes and yawned.  "Okay," she said.  "Okay."  She then sat up and stretched the kinks out of her body, rubbing her eyes and scanning the room for her clothes.  Pushing off of the bed, she bent at the waist here and there to pick up her jeans, her bra, her jacket.  Piling them onto a desk, but careful not to disrupt any of the books or paperwork that was already there, she began to dress.

Miller's eyebrow went up.  This was new to him.  Normally, women weren't so eager to leave him.  "You don't need to leave right away." 

Crane pulled her jeans up over her hips.  She said in a very detached manner, "My shift starts in a while, and I have lots to do before then."

That sounded like something Miller would have said to a girl.  In fact, as he quickly rummaged through his memory, he _knew_ it was something he'd said at least once. 

He sat up with a groan--keeping balanced without an arm and a leg could be quite a challenge, even in bed.  "Did you... not enjoy last night?" he asked unsurely.  He sincerely hoped that was not the case.

Crane stopped her motions.  "Of course I did," she said, slipping back into the bewitching woman she had been in the night, climbing back onto the bed on all fours and grinning wickedly.  "I wouldn't have come here in the first place if I didn't like you." 

Then she sat back on her heels, and professionalism took over again.  "I've heard the stories about you, Commander.  You like to have your fun and not be tied down to anyone.  That's fine, because I feel the same way.  But you are my boss, and I am your subordinate.  We need to keep those lines clear."

The way Crane sat, and the way she spoke so matter-of-factly in such a mature manner made Miller see her as more of a stoic samurai than a flirty nurse.  He was suddenly feeling far more respectful of her.  "Of course," he agreed. 

"Good.  My job is important to me, sir.  I and the medical staff will do our best to save the lives that come through our doors.  You just make sure that our soldiers come through those doors as little as possible."

Miller straightened.  "I always do," he said firmly.  "And I'm thankful for the work that you and your team do for our soldiers.  The Boss, though... he tends to push himself too hard in the field."

"Not unlike yourself.  Everyone knows how many hours you put into running this place, sir.  I don't wish to see you coming through the ER doors anytime soon, either."

"I'd still like to see you again, though."

Crane smiled.  "Then you will--when our schedules permit, of course.  And I hope the next time you don't feel you have to hide yourself from me with those sunglasses."  She hopped off the bed and pulled on her shoes and jacket.  She stuffed her bra in her jacket pocket. 

"Like I said, you can do what you like with other women, and I won't be throwing a fit about it.   But..."  She looked over the messy surface until she found what she was looking for, and held it up to show Miller: a permanent marker.  "This," she said, pointing to the bottle of shochu, "is reserved for only when I'm over."  She drew a clear, black line to mark the bottle's level of its contents. 

Miller allowed a low chuckle.  "I guess I can exercise that much restraint.  I'll put it away until I see you the next time, then." 

Crane gave a tiny bow of her head.  "Goodbye, sir."  She left without another word, the door opening and closing quietly. 

Miller exhaled and let himself fall back onto the pillows.  He honestly hadn't expected Crane to be as cool as she was about his history; that she valued her stash of alcohol above monogamy was both beguiling and amusing to him.  He couldn't say he was crazy about the idea of her being with other men, though.  Hopefully he could coax her out of that. 

Crane was far from being the first woman Miller had been with since the old Mother Base went down, but she had been the first since Snake had rescued him in Afghanistan.  Looking back, Miller could admit to himself that he had been too out of control in his womanizing habits, indulging in the female staff of Militaires Sans Frontières with as much care as a teenager.  Few things felt better than losing oneself in the body of a beautiful woman, and after all, _they_ were the ones that came to him willingly--why shouldn't he enjoy them? 

But when he learned that a woman--not a girl, as he had been previously led to believe--had played a role in tearing down everything he and the Boss had worked for, that naive version of Miller went down along with the old Mother Base.  It was utterly humiliating to remember how much he had let his guard down to Paz, that lying, gutter-trash bitch.  His attitude towards women had never been the same since, and any time he saw a pretty face, he always wondered what secret agenda might be hiding behind her mask.  This was especially the case for blonde women, he found.  The more appealing the bait, the more vicious the trap. 

It was why he couldn't be anything but distrustful of Quiet.  Coming straight from Cipher, dressed like a centerfold and trying to pique curiosity by not talking?  Did they really think that would be enough to lure the Boss?  It was a pathetic act.    

Miller yanked his sunglasses off and pressed the bridge of his nose.  Once, when his playing around had come back to bite him in the ass, the Boss had taken him to task for the disruption it had been causing to Mother Base's morale and stability.  One all-out fistfight and a utterly destroyed sauna later, and Miller had promised to the Boss and himself to never again let women get in the way of the dream they had built together. 

He had kept his promise.  So why was the Boss being so blind about Quiet?  How could he have done anything other than putting a bullet between the mute sniper's eyes the second he had the chance? 

Sometimes, Miller felt like he didn't understand Snake at all. 

****

The inside of a helicopter was still generally loud, but Snake had gotten used to the roaring of the blades decades ago.  There were even times when he found it to be more soothing than actual silence. 

He had just successfully extracted the two engineers that had made frequent visits to the Devil's House laboratory.  They would have to be quarantined once they arrived at Mother Base first, but he hoped that they could provide some useful info about the nature of the experiments that had been going on there. 

Sickness was far worse than physical injury, Snake believed.  With a bullet wound or cut, the what, how and why were clear.  Diseases and infections, however, were elusive and elegant.  Some people could go misdiagnosed for years before doctors could determine what was wrong with them, suffering from not knowing as much as from their symptoms in the interim. 

He slumped back and let his eye travel around the walls of the ACC.  Diamond Dogs had several helicopters, but this one was reserved for the Boss alone.  Photographs and notes plastered the interior, creating a vehicular scrapbook of soldiers' faces, areas of operations, equipment specs, local wildlife, and recent memorable moments.  The newest addition to the walls had been some shots of Quiet, standing before the desert, rifle in hand.  A support team member named Razor Vulture was often first on the scene to document missions with his camera, owing to his past as a photojournalist.  He had a good eye, and always delivered his best shots to the Boss.  The last Snake had heard, Vulture was attempting to capture a photo of the White Mamba, but the kid was as cooperative as a hurricane. 

It was reassuring to have the pictures and notes all around him.  Snake had never been all that sentimental before, but he found this method of surrounding himself with visual mementos to be practical and, in some ways, soothing.  He was constantly aware of how he wasn't the same man he used to be, and there were moments when his memory could be fuzzy.  The walls served as a mimetic device that reinforced who he had to find, what he was looking for, where he was going, how he would execute the mission, when was the ideal time to sortie, why he was doing what he did. 

They confirmed Snake's identity.  They were the things that constituted Big Boss.

****

When Quiet had heard about Mother Base being overtaken by an enemy PMC, she had become sick with worry.  The possibility of someone else stealing the kill that was rightfully hers was unbearable.  The combat unit she had been deployed with had been on the chopper when they received the news that the Boss had returned and successfully defeated the invading forces, and while the others exchanged relieved looks and cheers, she couldn't rest until she saw him in person. 

Her heart had sped up when she saw him from the window, but even as she pulled the door open and leapt out, she had detected something wrong.  Like a vague whiff of some bad smell that came and went depending on the wind, it was very subtle, but she could tell that the Boss had been near _them_. 

The vocal cord parasites.

She had immediately gone to stand in front of him, looking, listening and smelling with her enhanced senses, anxious but needing to know.  Finally, she had determined that he was not carrying them, but merely had been in their presence, and some of her tension melted away. 

But not all of it.  Ocelot had mentioned the Devil's House, and the Boss talked about a "human barbeque" and had extensive heat damage done to his sneaking suit. 

Quiet knew they were getting closer to discovering the vocal cord parasites.  It was only a matter of time, of course.  They would discover Skull Face's linguistic plan, and be defeated. 

Which was why she was so shocked and panicked when she sensed the parasites again days later, this time in a Diamond Dogs soldier. 

He was a newer recruit that had made his first few missions to Africa doing recon.  He was passing by her cell when she noticed, having a friendly chat with some colleagues.  And unlike the Boss, this man _was_ infected. 

None of them had seen how she had paled, how her eyes filled with dread.  A cacophony of thoughts swirled inside her head like a swarm of angry hornets.  He couldn't have been infected for too long, he was still up and about, business as usual.  It was impossible to know what language strain he had.  How many people had he been around?  Who else already had it?  Perhaps he was an assassin sent by XOF.  Maybe Skull Face had become impatient (however unlikely that seemed) and sent this man to finish her and the Boss off? 

_No, I can't let that happen!_

They had only recently allowed her to keep her combat gear with her when she returned to her cell.  Granted, her rifle was her greatest weapon, and that still stayed on the Boss' chopper, but she could do a considerable amount of damage with the grenades, pistol, and combat knife she kept on her belt. 

For what she was about to do, she required precision.

She pulled out her knife and jumped up, through the bars of her cell and onto the higher level of the platform.  The soldiers turned, startled.  The one closest to her saw her knife drawn and moved his hand to his sidearm, but she zoomed in to deliver a swift kick to the side of his head, turning him into a ragdoll.  The second and third men made a grab for her, only to receive equally devastating hits to the torso and face, though only strong enough to knock them out.  The whole time, Quiet kept her eyes locked on the infected soldier, and the realization dawned on him that he was her target.  The blade of her knife seemed to snarl with the harsh sunlight reflecting off of it.

He let out a frightened gasp and ran, almost tripping as he got into a parked jeep and sped off to the command platform, scratching the sides against the walls.  She pursued, unseen and undeterred.  She didn't even notice the sound or sight of the approaching chopper.

Once out of the jeep, he looked back and almost breathed an ecstatic sigh of relief to not see anyone there, but in the next instant Quiet had materialized within arm's reach from him.  He screamed and fell backwards, a move which just happened to save his throat from being slashed by the knife that came swinging at him.  Quiet frowned at the man's dumb luck, letting him get up and run away. 

He bumped into some men that were in the middle of a discussion, and they turned to see her approaching.  Seeing how afraid he was, they barred her way with their arms crossed. 

_As if that would stop me.  Bunch of idiots._

She took them out of the equation, as easily as a toddler would smack down wooden blocks, and bounced off of them like jumping boards to land on her target, the force knocking him to the ground helplessly.  He tried to bat her away, but his fear and position were no match for her determination and strength. 

She jabbed him in the mouth once with the butt of her knife, making him cry out in pain.  With the power of a vice, her left hand squeezed on his neck while she thrust her knife downwards, but his teeth had clamped down over the blade just in time. 

_You're only making this worse.  Stop fighting me.  This is going to happen._

Crimson blood was splattered over the man's mouth and chin.  The bottom of his lip had a deep, vertical cut from the blade, and tears were beginning to stream down the sides of his face as he wailed, but he desperately put all the strength he had into keeping the knife in place. 

 _You don't get to kill him!  He's mine!_  

Quiet's eyes narrowed into slits as she pushed harder.  The knife sunk deeper, and the man's upper central incisors chipped away.  Reddish saliva was churning inside his mouth as the blade's tip sliced at his tongue, futilely squirming from the assault. 

"Stop this!  _Now!_ " a voice called from behind.  A part of Quiet's mind knew straight away that it was the Boss, even before his large hand had clamped on her shoulder, before the smell of him had entered her nose.  But right now she was focused on only one thing, and she couldn't let anyone get in her way. 

She whirled around to slash at the Boss, and he caught her wrist as if he were expecting her attack from the start, following with a hit from his bionic arm to take the knife out of her grasp.  Growling, she snapped her leg up in a scorpion kick to his head, but he blocked that too, and used her momentary vulnerability to roll her off balance and onto her stomach while he held onto her right arm. 

He dropped his knee on her back, between her shoulder blades, and she wanted to scream.  _You idiot, let me go, you have to let me finish him or he'll kill you--!_   She wriggled and grunted in an attempt to get away. 

Her target had recovered enough in the meantime to crawl a distance away from her.  "What the fuck, you freak!" he yelled out, crying and cupping his battered mouth as blood and drool dribbled over his lips. 

"Give me a hand!" the Boss ordered the other soldiers, now awake again.  They clumsily, angrily, fell on her, trying to still her movements, but the physical contact from them was intolerable to Quiet, and she kicked one back into a wall while another was kneed in the groin. 

Elegant footsteps, and Ocelot appeared, wielding a syringe.  "Hold her still!" he said, before piercing the needle into Quiet's arm. 

She struggled even more for a second or two, flooded with fear of what the contents of the needle were, considering it was Ocelot that injected her.  But there was no pain, just a darkening of the world, and she soon went still. 

****

When Quiet woke up, her head was heavy with a lead fog, and her limbs were sluggish.  The sun was still out, but she noticed there were more guards above her cell now.  Whenever they looked at her, they had challenge and contempt in their eyes.  No music was playing.  Her combat gear was gone--she was only in her leggings and bikini again. 

She closed her eyes and held a hand to her face.  So she'd failed.  The infected man was still alive, and she'd lost whatever trust she had with the Diamond Dogs.    

_The Boss might die.  And it wouldn't even be by my hand._

_The Boss might die... because I failed to stop it._

She stared at the floor, her mind blank, then slowly made her way to the shower and turned on the water.  She stood under the spray for longer than usual--the sedative that Ocelot used on her had left her especially parched.  When she had enough, she sat on her cot again, unconsciously rubbing her right wrist. 

"How is she?" a low voice asked from above.  Quiet went alert.  It was the Boss. 

A disgruntled voice belonging to one of the soldiers answered.  "She just woke up, Boss, seems fine." 

There was a pause.  "Give us some space." 

There was the sound of clothing rustling as a salute was made, then the guards moved away from the cell.  Slowly, the Boss descended the stairs.  As much as Quiet didn't want to face the Boss right now, she couldn't keep from standing to her feet and approaching the bars of her cell.  Water continued to drip from her and dot the floor. 

He was angry, that was obvious to anyone.  Before she had first been brought to Mother Base, she wouldn't have cared less about how he felt.  Now, she wanted to turn away from him.  The Boss clenched and unclenched his fists, keeping his blue eye on her as he maintained distance from her. 

"The man you attacked suffered lacerations to his tongue and mouth," he finally said.  "A dentist will need to do repair work on his teeth you broke."  He was only telling her this to make her feel guilty, she knew. 

"Why did you attack him?" 

He was standing in a shady spot, but his gaze was still as penetrating as a laser.  She looked away. 

Heavy silences punctuated his sentences.  "You haven't done anything unprovoked to anyone ever since you got here.  I know there were some that mistreated you, but that man wasn't one of them."  He stepped closer until his face was inches away from the bars.  She felt naked under his scrutiny. 

"Why did you attack him?" he repeated, his tone becoming darker. 

 _Because he was going to kill you--he_ is _going to kill you, and your men, the children, the civilians, and I don't want that._   The words beat against her mind, demanding to be let out, but she kept them lock up. 

The Boss sighed in exasperation and grabbed at one of the bars, causing the steel to rattle.  "Damn it, Quiet, why won't you _talk_?" he rasped.  The frustration in his voice was palpable.   

Quiet couldn't help but look at him again.  She had hurt him by attacking one of his men, his family.  She had tried to attack him, too, and while the Boss hadn't brought that up, Miller and the others would seize it as the proof they'd wanted all along that she was an enemy, and would never be one of them.  Even if she were able to somehow tell him why she had attacked that man, the Boss would probably still try to save him, try to do whatever it took to save his life, but taking that time would be fatal. 

He was too kind, too merciful.  It would get him killed.

"I _know_ you have a voice--I want to hear it."  He was very close to her when he said it, so that only she could hear it.  The intimacy of the plea combined with the deep rumble of his voice made it impossible for her not to be moved by it. 

_If you hear me talk, it'll be the last thing you'll ever hear._

She could only shake her head, and give him a look.  It was filled with regret, apology, sadness, and resentment, but only so much of that could be conveyed in eyes. 

Disappointed, the Boss huffed and ripped his hand away from the bars. 

Something thudded on the floor above, and Quiet hear some men pulling an object out of a crate.  They spread it open and stood on the edges overlooking her cell, and began to pull it overhead--camo netting. 

The Boss explained.  "I can't have you at full strength if it means you might injure another one of my men for no reason."  The netting soon covered the entire opening of the pit, and drills whirred here and there to secure it in place.  The inside of the cell was now dappled with the effect of a jungle canopy.  It wasn't enough to hurt Quiet--it would be similar to functioning with only one meal a day as opposed to three.  Certainly preferable to being forced to wear clothes or having the shower shut off. 

Everyone knew she stayed in the cell by choice.  This was her penance, to elect to be hindered. 

Quiet bowed her head.  Her hands crept up and gripped the bars in acceptance. 

The Boss opened his mouth once as though he might say something, then thought otherwise and closed it.  He shot her a look of his own, and Quiet realized with silent surprise that it was the same loaded one she had given him.  He exited the pit without another word, and minutes later, Quiet heard a chopper flying off into the sky. 

She held the bars so hard that they groaned a little, as she wished fervently that this wasn't the last time she would see him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured I'd give Miller some attention, since Ocelot and even Skull Face had their bits. Much of Miller's backstory about his womanizing is referenced in Peacewalker, but the detail where he and the Boss fight in a sauna is from the "Heiwa to Wahei no Blues" Japanese drama CD. It was difficult to write from the perspective of a womanizing man, and even moreso since Miller, post-Trojan Horse incident, is filled to the brim with rage. In my portrayal of him, he hasn't lost that aspect of his personality completely, though he distrusts women since Paz's betrayal, and respects them even less. Crane ended up getting more page time as a result, and I hope I didn't go too OOC with Miller there.


	12. Dejection

After Quiet's attack, Snake had not taken her on any more missions.  He made the decision before Miller even had the chance to bring it up, preferring to beat his XO to the punch so as not to hear more of his lecturing.  As much as he hated to do it, he needed it to be clear to everyone that attacks on other personnel were not without consequences.  As a leader, he also could not let others think that he showed any sort of favouritism, particularly towards someone many still didn't accept as one of their own. 

And though Quiet's grounding served as punishment for her actions, Snake felt as heavyhearted as if he had been penalized himself.  It wasn't just from the lack of an incredibly-skilled partner being with him on missions; he had grown used to having her on the chopper with him, sitting statuesquely as she did, peering over Pequod's shoulder at the control panel, or relaxing across the seats like a model on the beach rather than a soldier in a military vehicle.  He felt ridiculous to be so conscious of her absence, considering she never made any noise, but that still didn't stop him from scanning the horizon now and again to see if she hadn't somehow managed to tag along and had been watching over him the whole time. 

The chopper bumped Snake out of his thoughts as it touched down on the helipad.  Before he even opened the door, he could see trouble was happening.  The former "commander" known as the White Mamba was getting in the face of one of the other child soldiers, Etepe.  Whatever the reason, the White Mamba looked ready to claw the other boy's eyes out. 

A Diamond Dogs soldier stepped up to intervene.  "Fighting'll get you nowhere, Eli," he said, playing the line separating casual from stern. 

With the dexterity of a pickpocket, the White Mamba slipped the soldier's knife out of its holster, tossing it from hand to hand like a hot potato.  Snake had to admit, the brat was nimble as hell. 

"Cut it out, kid!  That ain't a toy!" the soldier barked, dropping all pretenses of friendliness. 

Still the child commander gave no sign of letting up, bouncing his weight from foot to foot, ready to react at a second's notice. 

"Eli--"

"Don't call me that!" the boy roared, lunging forward to stab at the man's face.  The soldier managed to deflect the attack, but against his hesitation, the boy's ferocity won out, and soon he was on the ground, the knife blade pressed against his neck. 

"I'm _not_ a kid!  You hear me!?" the White Mamba snarled, keeping his hand on his prey's head, forcing the soldier to look at him. 

"It's only real kids that get mad when they're called kids," Snake said dryly, now standing a few feet away from the scene. 

The White Mamba glared at Snake, and his hand pushed harder on the knife, making the soldier hiss in pain. 

A hand swooped in to grasp the boy's wrist.  "Enough," Ocelot commanded.  The leather of his glove groaned as the commander smoothly lifted the White Mamba up off the soldier with one arm, tossing him back and allowing the soldier to get to his feet. 

Again the target of the boy's rage shifted, and though he was clearly less assured with this new opponent, backing down was not an option to the White Mamba.  He roared and ran at the cowboy, but a young snake was hardly a match for a grown ocelot, and quickly he had the wind knocked out of him, cringing on the ground as he gripped at his still sore arm. 

It wasn't just skill that this boy had, Snake knew.  The White Mamba had a raw talent for fighting that was well beyond what any typical child would have.  His reflexes and stamina made him a disconcertingly decent match for many adults, and his willingness to kill gave a tactical advantage over those that would underestimate him or hold back on account of his size and age. 

_He would surely be a menace as a grown man.  If he even lives that long._  

The White Mamba's teeth flashed white as he stood back up, the knife laying on the ground between him and Ocelot.  A small sigh escaped the commander's lips, but he kept his eyes trained on the boy.  Priming his small fists, the child commander grunted and dove forward, attempting to strike low into his enemy's midsection.  He was so tunnel-visioned, he failed to see Ocelot's own hands coming from above, and was shoved back down like he was hit with a wrecking ball. 

No one said anything, and no one offered the defeated boy a hand.  After a few strangled groans, he sat up, spitting contemptuously to his side.   Without looking at anyone, he got to his feet and began walking back to his quarters.  Snake could tell that the boy's ego was aching far greater than anything else. 

With the show over, the soldier retrieved his knife and escorted Etepe away.  Ocelot approached Snake. 

"Enjoy the show?" Ocelot asked with an arched eyebrow. 

Snake shrugged.  "You handled things just fine." 

"On the battlefield, they used one another's nom de guerre.  But here, we insist they use their real names.  That hasn't sat too well with Eli--or should I say, 'Nyoka ya Mpembe?" 

"So we finally learned his name, huh?" Snake said, looking at the retreating figure of the White Mamba.  "Surprised he actually told us." 

"He didn't--his 'men' brought it up.  When he found out they told us, he started beating them up and we had to pull him off of them.  He's disrupting the other kids, too--breaking their stuff, stealing their food and throwing it away, refusing to participate in classes.  He thinks his boys are letting us grownups walk all over them.  One of the few times he did show interest is when he saw Buffalo and the others training the women and girls in self-defense.  He was keen on learning how to become a better fighter and demanded to spar with them, but Buffalo shot him down on account of his attitude."

Snake shook his head.  "He's got potential, but way too much rage for it to be fully realized." 

Ocelot let a few seconds of silence go before changing the subject.  "We've got a job offer that just came in.  The client wants us to find a human trafficker that's somewhere in the African savannah with some bodyguards.  Sounds like he's on the run, so it's a time-sensitive job.  If you bring him in alive, we'll get double the payment."

"This guy a VIP of some kind?"

"Our intel doesn't seem to think so--he's just a logistics officer for the Rogue Coyote PF, and does trafficking as a side job.  But our client's adamant to get their hands on him.  Considering he's in your recent AOE, he might even know something that could get us more info on Skull Face.  Miller will give you the full details."

"All right, I'll head back out in a few minutes."

"One more thing," Ocelot quickly said.  He exhaled a weary sigh, the kind often used by bearers of bad news.  "We've had a number of our staff falling sick lately.  Seems to be a particularly bad cold or flu.  Our work takes our people to a lot of developing nations, places that don't have clean water, sewage systems, or healthcare, which means we're more likely to encounter various diseases.  Malaria, tuberculosis, polio, measles, meningitis... the list goes on.  Rather than keep the sick on the medical platform, we're thinking that having a quarantine area, kept separate from the rest of Mother Base, would be best.  Construction's already begun."

Snake's eyes thinned.  The idea of his staff falling victim to illnesses that were hardly a concern in first world countries twisted his insides.  But it was the undeniably reality of this world they lived in that so much of what was taken for granted in some places was rare, if not unheard of, in others. 

"Good," he said after a moment.  It was just one word, and said so briefly in response to such a weighty situation, but the years of knowing each other had given the two men an unspoken understanding.  "Set stricter guidelines on hygiene, and place medical supplies on top priority for requisition." 

With a nod from Ocelot, Snake headed towards the medical platform at a brisk pace.  There was someone he needed to see before leaving.

****

Music had not been playing in Quiet's cell ever since the incident.  Another part of her punishment, she knew, but she was not as bothered by it as the staff might have wished.  She continued to hum her tune to herself, just loud enough for her to hear.  She did not want to share this part of her with the others.  Words came and went as she mentally shifted them around like puzzle pieces to find the right combination to fit the melody, but the song was still nowhere near complete. 

During the day, the camo netting over her cell looked black against the bright blue sky and clouds.  Quiet did not have as much energy as before, though she suspected the reduced sunlight was not the only reason for her lassitude.  Her composition sessions were frequently broken up with her attempting to listen to the noises above and see whether the Boss was nearby.  They had not even seen each other for weeks, and it was beginning to seriously gnaw at her. 

The slightest sound of footsteps, a voice, or a scent approaching made her senses zero in on the source, and it only took seconds for her to decipher the clues and know that it was never him.  The Boss' gait, the way he moved and the sounds that went with it, the low, voice that was somehow soft and rough at the same time, the standard mix of sweat, dust and blood that was always on him, and underneath that, his own personal scent--they were seared into her mind, but there was a building urge inside her to experience those senses again.  This would lead to her pacing her cell, doing push-ups and crunches, or taking a quick shower to take her mind off of it.  The hours would go by as she'd lie on her cot and absently stare at the cell floor as the puddles and dark spots evaporated into the air.  A few times she mentally rehearsed how she might kill him, an activity that had sustained her greatly in the past, but lately she was finding it harder to focus on such thoughts. 

Then she heard it.  Tactical boots evenly crossing the platform.  A rifle slung over his back clacking against his gear with every step.  The eager clicking of DD's paws. 

Her heart was suddenly in her throat and she sat up.  

A furry face popped into view overhead.  DD sniffed at the netting, his black nose poking at the makeshift canopy, before he leaned back and cocked his head to one side, curiously. 

Quiet's eyes narrowed, waiting for the wolf's owner to appear, but he never did.  Instead, only his voice was heard from a distance. 

"Any changes?"  The Boss asked flatly.  

"None, sir," came the reply of one of the guards.  "Hasn't made a move on anyone since."

"Don't let your guard down." 

"Yes, Boss."

There was the sound of footsteps leaving the area, and DD immediately turned away from Quiet and ran off to follow them. 

He had not even bothered to see her.

Quiet's shoulders sagged with realization.  Every other time the Boss had spoken to others about her, he had kept his voice loud enough for her to hear (never mind that her ears worked better than any normal person's) and stood in a spot that let her see him, so that she would not feel excluded.  Now he was refusing to acknowledge her presence by staying out of her sight. 

She felt tired all of a sudden, and decided to take a nap. 

****

Snake's compulsion to visit Paz was always motivated by a desire for calm and stability.  Bizarrely unchanged since the events of nine years ago, she represented a oasis of frozen time from the ugly and exhausting present.  With her corn silk blonde hair and bright blue eyes, she was every bit the image of an angel.  With every new photo that Snake brought to her, she would light up like a child and chatter delightedly about the events surrounding them, smiling and giggling as she recounted memories of the old Mother Base, visions framed in gold.

But Snake rarely felt at ease during these visits.  He was tired and uneven, his mind hazey like a static-addled TV image, being pulled in opposing directions.  Hair-thin needles of confusion and doubt pricked him, injecting murky malaise and the occasional nausea. 

He figured a large part of it was fatigue and the shrapnel protruding from his skull--he had already experienced trouble with his vision and cognizance on the few occasions when he took a hit to the head during missions--but he was self-aware enough to know that the main cause was psychological.  He couldn't work up the will to answer Paz's questions about where Zadornov, or rather, Gálvez, was, or when they might have Peace Day again, and even if she had been a double agent and opened the doors to Militaires Sans Frontières' ruin, he did not feel she deserved half of what she had been subjected to by Skull Face.  That bloody "V" that ruined her otherwise unblemished skin should have been on him, not her--what was one more scar added to the collection? 

"Uggghh..." Paz made a feeble groan, snapping Snake's attention to her.  "My head hurts," she complained, dropping the latest photograph he'd gotten as she clutched at her fair hair. 

"Here," Snake mumbled, easing her to lie back down on the bed again.  He kept his touch as minimal as possible, as if normal contact might make her cease to exist altogether. 

"Thank you, Snake," Paz said, her eyelids fluttering closed like butterfly wings. 

He picked up the fallen picture and taped it to the wall with the others.  When he looked at Paz again, she was already asleep. 

He cast his eyes around the stark room as he left.  He would need to see if there were a better room available, one that had a window with a view.  He kept meaning to ask staff about it, but kept forgetting.

**** 

The trafficker had been easy to find and even easier to apprehend.  When you were as deeply involved in despicable and self-interested schemes as he was, very few people were willing to protect you.  Even those that took his money had hardly put up much resistance to Snake when he'd questioned them on the trafficker's location.  A quick sneak to a tent and a chokehold, and it was over. 

Upon receipt of the target's capture, the clients had sent Diamond Dogs a set of coordinates that Snake was to go to and make the exchange for payment.  It was some distance away, so there was time to try to get some questions in with the trafficker on the chopper ride over.   

He was even more talkative than his bodyguards, fearfully rambling on about Skull Face and the factory of death he had delivered his "products" to.  With the way he was shaking and begging to not become "one of them," it was almost enough to instill pity in Snake, if it weren't for the fact that this man had built himself a lucrative career out of snatching and selling people, including children, to whoever wanted them for whatever purpose.  Ocelot had managed to find detailed accounts of the trafficker's numerous deals with brothels, organ harvesters, and slave labour markets.  As a result, Snake remained utterly unmoved while the trafficker cried about wanting to see his family again, snapping his bound hands away in disgust when the piece of trash grabbed onto him with a plea for mercy. 

"Please," the trafficker said, his voice muffled through the black cloth bag over his head.  "Please don't hand me over to the Skull.  I, I don't want to become one of his guinea pigs." 

DD took a few steps closer to the prisoner and gave a brief growl, making the man shrink back with a whimper. 

"We're not giving you to Skull Face," Snake stated crisply.  "It was another client that paid for you."

"Another--who?"

Already tired of this conversation, and satisfied with the idea of letting the prisoner sweat a little more, Snake declined to answer, and leaned back in his seat.  Sensing that the conflict was settled, DD huffed and returned to his seat in the co-pilot's chair, where Pequod gave his head a gentle scratch. 

According to the intel that Ocelot had relayed to him, the client that had requested the trafficker's capture was a group that only referred to themselves as the Dregs.  A small but fierce band of people, they were more like pirates than mercenaries, with most of their activities limited to raids upon rebel militias and guerilla camps, but never civilian villages.  As far as Ocelot could tell, they never associated with other PMCs, though there was word of them using child soldiers.  The leader, Ayo, was to meet them at the designated location just outside of a thick jungle that many believed was haunted.  People often mysteriously disappeared at best, or were discovered as bloodied remains at worst.  It made for a decent place to do a prisoner swap. 

"We're here, Boss," Pequod announced. 

"All right.  Stick around, just in case."

Dust and grass rippled around the chopper as it hovered above ground.  Snake pulled the trafficker up and dragged him out of the chopper.  DD brought up the rear, his fur fluttering in the air. 

Snake shoved the trafficker onto his knees.  "Watch him," he ordered DD.  The wolf snorted in the affirmative. 

He walked a few feet ahead, scanning the area carefully as he did so, then stopped and stood still.  DD made a hesitant growl, then barked a couple of times.  They were being watched, though this was not all that surprising. 

This was where most people would have buckled under the discomforting silence and announced their presence to the other party, acknowledging the other's superior position and yielding their weapons.  But Snake had an abundance of patience, and he chose to stay silent.  There was something strange about this whole deal. 

Finally, the leaves and bushes rustled, and people emerged.  Almost a dozen child soldiers, some around the same age as Shabani and his boys, while a few were nearing their mid-teens.  Their clothes were Frankensteined together from old military fatigues and adults' shirts, pants, hats and shirts that were too large and ill-fitting on their small forms, and they wore several protective amulets around their necks.  Garlands of fresh leaves were draped over some of them to aid in camouflage.  Machetes and daggers rested by their hips while their hands gripped worn AK-47s, all pointed at Snake.  But what actually stood out to him was the fact that half of these soldiers were girls. 

The one who appeared to be in charge and the eldest steadily approached Snake while the others had her back.  She thin and short and had onyx-dark eyes and severely braided hair that left her scalp visible in a disorderly spider web pattern.  She was probably around sixteen years old, but there was a weariness to her that made her look considerably older.  She was glaring at him with utter contempt and distrust.  Snake could tell that this girl was no stranger to killing. 

"You're with the Dregs," Snake said, more as a confirmation than a question. 

"Do you have him?" the girl asked, her voice surprisingly low for a child's. 

"Over there."  The trafficker cringed, the black bag rustling on his head. 

The girl inhaled deeply, readjusting her grip on her rifle.  "Show me." 

Snake backed up slowly until he was behind the trafficker, then yanked the cover off of his head.  The man gasped in a panic and squeezed his eyes shut to avoid the mercilessly bright sun, his face covered with a plastic-like sheen of sweat. 

A collective, hushed reaction spread amongst the other children, their guns lowering.  The girl's eyes widened and took on a hungry, laser intensity as her mouth opened to reveal grinding teeth.  It took her a moment to remember that Snake was present, and she quickly tried to restore herself to a stony neutrality while she pulled an old canvas satchel off of her shoulder and tossed it at him. 

He opened it.  The bag was filled with raw jewels, most of it diamonds, but also rubies, emeralds and sapphires.  Snake didn't have to be an appraiser to know that there was easily more than enough to cover the cost of this job. 

"Hand him over," the girl said in a voice that was trying very hard to push down excitement.  She was no longer looking at Snake, but at the trafficker, whose gaze was ricocheting back and forth between the child soldiers. 

Snake closed the satchel.  "Why does your group want this man?" he asked. 

The girl flashed him a look of indignation.  "Lots of people want him--he sells people.  Hand him over."

"You've got enough gems in here to buy at least four more men like that.  Why is he so special?"  Snake glanced at the trafficker's face, which was slowly steeping in horrified realization. 

He looked back to the leader and her rifle, which was trying to decide which target it should stay on, Snake or the trafficker. 

"You're Ayo, aren't you?" he asked, already knowing the answer.  

The girl--Ayo--straightened up and lowered her rifle to her waist.  Her "men" followed suit, albeit uneasily.  They cautiously edged closer, staring at Snake and the trafficker with equal interest but unequal spite.  Ayo gave an odd whistle, loud and sharp, and within minutes, several more children came out of the jungle, these ones far younger and without any weapons on them.  A couple of the smallest ones trotted up to Ayo and clutched at her hip, and the rest hovered around her and the other soldiers, cubs surrounded by lions.  A tense silence followed. 

Snake got the sense that Ayo and the children wanted to be asked to tell it, so he did.  "How does a group of children become an independent militia?"

Ayo nodded her chin to the trafficker.  "You can thank him for that.  He bought us, stole us, took us from the street... Stuffed us in shipping containers, showed us off like animals before selling..."  With maternal gentleness she eased the children into letting go of her as she walked up to the trafficker. 

"You said that men like him are worth a fifth of what's in that bag?  We probably weren't even worth a handful of those rocks."  She prodded the trafficker's chin with her rifle muzzle, forcing him to look up at her.  "Don't you remember?  How you said we were the cheapest commodity that you can buy in this part of the world?  But that didn't stop you from 'sampling' us before you sold us off, did it?  Do you remember how you hurt us?  How you broke my arm because I wouldn't... How you offered Makemba and Desta there as wives to that rebel colonel?  And how he got bored of them when they got too old and you sold him Erico as fresh meat?  Did you know that Makemba escaped and went home to her parents, but they wouldn't accept her anymore because she was tainted?  Do you even _remember_ any of us?"

The trafficker was practically hyperventilating.  "Ayo!" he gasped desperately, "Please, you have to understand, I didn't have any choice--"

The AK cracked across the trafficker's face and a thin ribbon of blood splattered onto the ground.  Ayo's face was a turmoil of revulsion, rage and grief.  She launched a hard kick into his stomach, the booted heel landing with a deep _thump_ and propelling glue-thick saliva out of the man's mouth.  That only seemed to make her angrier, and she brought down the butt of her rifle onto his kneecap.  The trafficker screamed. 

Snake had a good idea of what Ayo must be going through.  The one who had bought and used her and the others was in front of her, helpless and moaning, his coughs blowing up dirt that stuck to his face like a dusting of cocoa powder.  It was intolerably disappointing to see the one who had tormented and overpowered you once now reduced to such a pathetic state.  What did it say about you?  Was it better or worse if he remembered you and what he did to you? 

Ayo was clenching her fists and hissing breaths through her teeth.  She called to three of the older soldiers, the girl she had earlier referred to as Makemba, a youth called Kabaka who was smoking a tattered old joint, and a stringy boy named Tomaz.  They came over, grim and determined, and picked up the trafficker by the arms and began dragging him into the jungle.  Kabaka gave a smug sneer to Snake as he puffed out smoke in an attempt to look tough and cool.  Their rifles clattered against their sides like clogs. 

At this point it was all more about conversation than getting viable info.  Manners.  Going along with the act that this was something normal.  "What will you do with him?" Snake asked. 

Ayo was gripping her rifle again, but it was not pointed directly at Snake.  "Everything he did to each of us--with interest."  She studied him fiercely.  "Do you intend to stop us?" 

The trafficker had regained a bit of consciousness, and was now making incoherent noises, no doubt asking for forgiveness, to be spared whatever was about to happen to him.  His captors ignored him, pulling him along, not caring when his head bumped against rocks embedded in the ground.  The wails were pitiful, but no one, not even the youngest children, looked moved. 

"No."  After what he himself had experienced, Snake hardly found it fair to deny someone their revenge. 

"Good.  Because if you did, we would kill you too."

Snake believed her.  This wasn't a goal the Dregs had reached thoughtlessly.  The children had already been subjected to much cruelty and violence, and were likely to see more in the future.  For better or worse, they had been trained well by their commanders.  Miller had mentioned to Snake how the Dregs had managed to steal from several mercenary groups and smaller PMCs without being caught--their size and agility gave them an advantage, not to mention the stealth advantages the jungle gave them. 

Ayo and the rest of the Dregs had already turned around and started walking towards the jungle when Snake decided to speak again. 

"What's your plan after this?" 

Ayo turned her head.  "What do you care?"

"You've made it this far, but you're still vulnerable.  Those smaller kids with you look like they're suffering from malnutrition, and I bet you could use proper medical attention.  Raiding camps isn't enough to get you everything you need."

The young leader gestured to the other soldiers, who nodded and got the other children to follow them back to the jungle.  She waited until they were out of earshot before speaking.  "What's your point?" she bit out angrily. 

"Come back with us.  To our base--"

"Where there's men."

"Yes--"

" _No._ "

"We already have a population of refugees, civilians, and others like you there, safe and protected and living a life outside of war."

A pained, disbelieving expression, borne of insult, washed over Ayo.  "Does that exist for you?" 

Snake's eyes narrowed.  "It could for you."

Ayo shook her head.  "The things we've gone through, the things we've done--even among your people, we'd be outcasts.  That's why we have our name.  You can't save everyone." 

Even after the Dregs had meted out their torturous punishment on the trafficker, it would not change the fact that they had devoted a sizeable amount of their lives and time thinking of, and doing terrible things for the sake of finding that despicable shitstain of a man.  The state they were in now was proof of the power he held over them, his final, lasting victory.   

A stiff breeze blew in, and swept away some of the trail that the trafficker's dragged body had left behind. 

"What about the younger ones?  Some of them look like they haven't been subjected to militia training yet.  Let them decide.  If any of them want to come with us, we'll take them in, give them food and shelter." 

Ayo frowned and twisted her lips.  A part of her, small and tucked away, wanted to believe him, but experience counseled otherwise. 

She needed further convincing.  Snake held his hand to his earpiece.  "Kaz?"

_"What is it, Boss?"_

"I want you to send a supply drop to my coordinates.  Food, water, medicine, and other survival essentials--but no weapons of any kind."  He made sure that Ayo heard that last part.

_"Right."_

Snake ended the transmission and looked at the Dregs' leader.  "Whether you use it or not is up to you, but it's got to be better than scrounging through raids."  A meaningful pause, then, "Contact us if any of you change your mind.  Until then, stay alive." 

He then turned and went back to the chopper, DD close on his heels.  As they took off, he noticed Ayo still standing where she was, watching them depart until she was out of their field of vision. 

Snake grunted as he shifted in his seat, and remembered the heavy satchel of jewels on him.  He tossed it hard onto the seats in front of him, causing a few of the diamonds to fly out and scatter onto the floor.  He ignored them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NNNnnnnnnnrggggghh (╯°益°)╯彡┻━┻ it's back!!
> 
> Yes, it's been way too long, and yes, as a result, I'm probably rusty at this story, but hopefully I can get back into it. School is now finished for good, and I'm doing more things to make myself happy, so I consider 2016 to be a pretty good year for me so far. 
> 
> The subplot of Snake encountering female child soldiers who are out for revenge was one that I had stewing for quite some time. I also wanted to depict characters that he and Diamond Dogs can't save, since, well, feasibly, they can't.


End file.
